There may be ten thousand endings
In a day, consider them all as gifts.
Yet when ten thousand flashes
Mark an end nothing unique exists.
The sums ten thousand generations acquire
Make each individual as poor as the next.
Wealth be discretionary over
Decades but decadence decays, loss is a
Wonder soon forgotten.
Aesop’s greatest moral has yet to be told –
Uniqueness is a tale of an existential mind:
Design and form, the dualities of complexity.
Be they the scientifically observed modus operandi
Then tell me –
Just who are we?
And who am I?