effort to essence

the essence of now

is never made evident.

we only have the inferences

of the relative immediate past.

in time travel,

experience is only a prejudicial view,

as substitutional, 

supposedly representing all of what is.

we are only audience to the immediacies

of our sensory input.

we essentially replicate, as the now

to falsely futurize

our immediate impendings, 

as secrets of the past

in the now as awesomely faux-realized.

yet we extort from the unrealized

and call that creation.

the wave of our future

is soully based on our methods of insight.

our cognitions of creation

are also our cruel hands of self-fate.

we only truly believe in the past,

as repeating itself, 

by our measures of account.

how we have erred

offer us 

the hands of our owned divinity providing.

we are ever learning how to speak itness

and quite a distance

from learning how to hear isness.

we invented the syntax of communication,

but we lack in the synergy of conveyance. 

now is ever the embodiment potential of being

and less of the manuscript of memories maintained.

time, at best, will only be the printed page

and the optimal of experience(?), 

is the life of the reader.

we have the perseverance 

of a self state of existence.

the mechanics of oneness

are beyond comprehension's capabilities.

we don't really matter,

even though that's what we appear 

to be composed of.

for now, we address causal,

with the purest earnestness of curiosity.

in terms of human interest,

cause is always the start point.

and our answers are 

what has become the necessity

of what is whittled away.

hence, we live in the scraps and the shrapnel,

building comparatives in the deities of denial,

yet thriving on the cutting edge of cognitions.

producing mental equivalencies, 

as our pride-fill of rewards.

effort, task bound,

is once again the ritual, 

of our essence, 

set free . . .