You asked me once who you serve?

You asked me once who you serve.

I replied with vigor and an absolute tone that trembles every time these questions dawn.

No one.

I don’t serve anyone.

And in this lie of a cry, humanity fumbles its way into a sanctity tarnished with a truth completely varnished.

As if the question demands the lie.
As if the answer holds it with a sigh.

One held too long to doom.
One sworn to never end too soon.

Who do you serve?

~ Remember this destiny and don’t too eagerly give in to its insanity.

For once, the day blooms in the courtyard of dooms to save you from this gloom, twitching frantically to keep you at bay, and helplessly, you resist not to savior or exist but to simply see that in this era of greed, an answer is not what you need.

For the why will linger, and the ego will tingle, but it is in the night of the day that we share our beliefs without a dare or say to always worry about the order of things dying before we revel in the infinite wisdom of a mystery drenched in a sense of irony coming for your will.

The question highlights the agony. The answer shares its misery. In between lives, the JOY that demands no answer and never finds a sense in a question about nonsense.

And until then… well… question and answer away.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~