To be is, to be...

To be, is to be,

Plus whatever I can interpret from me.



For life is art of infinite beauty,

Because life is.



That which is memory is not,

For it was.



The present is,

And nothing more.



Therefore, that which was,

Is moulded by that which is not.



Interpretation is that which was,

So it no longer is.



The purpose of that which is,

Is to be.



For a reflection on such,

No longer is.



And my desire is:

That which I presume I will be,



My mind is,

But contains:

That which is,

That which was,

That which will be,

And that which is not.

But ultimately:



To be, is be,

For I am me and only me,

Whoever I may choose to be.