"I love her," as I'm lost,
and clouds oppose direction
while looking to the stars
to call each of them
for I've asked the fallen skies
of original sin
to search for God,
and this is what they've found.
Rather, it was not a question, I declare,
that one could understand,
but a process naturally arriving,
resembling finding the rain that should fall.
Or like that, which has no anything
but a unique choice
which the first person ought mention.
As in this infinitely complex number of events,
developed as they are
only because we should name them life.
Or that life should occur, as it does,
with any resolute nature of this world.
For I am always surpassed
within this physical empire,
and we have not been spiritually developed
to a nobility
as to explain things as valid.
Yet we pretend to aspire, to be
well-informed, only to show another.
For knowing is the world,
but the well-informed do not search out our purpose,
as it is everything we are here for.
"She is free from means of absence."
My absolute promulgation,
as though not translated
but deciphered many times.
For what there was,
a falling of mankind,
nothing is ashamed,
as everything was already
before it was we knew.
So to the stars I ask,
"Must I struggle?"
As 'Why' was her name
that she was ever mine.