Am I a slave to time.

This motive of mine:

in the prison note.

"You're dead."

Am I - a dead man.

Between a suicidal mission,

and what the prison note says.

It tells me of how.

How things change.

To tell of all the things I have read. . .

I hear a cry.

(There, in my mind.)

That voice of mine.

My main idea is the question.

I desire.  What it means.

To ask the right question.

Because the idea is what charges the mind's eye.

It's all I've ever needed.

To see things as they are.

The miracle is in listening to that voice.

In every single motive I've ever acted on.

It is the view from where time ends.

And thought.