After Stein

On my exterior there is calm. On my interior there is chaos. In the mountains they say there is gold. In the desert they say there is nothing. In the desert they say there is nothing. In nothing all else is existing, in nothing all else dies. In nothing there is potential, in nothing there is exuberance, in nothing there is emptiness and the endless search for something. Some of you humans have souls; most of us wicked sell lies. All of my ignorance breeds discord while all of the hurt keeps hurting, all of the questions keep questioning. This makes being.