To think or not to think-that is the question:

Whether ‘tis worthy for the mind to wander

The sullied and tarnished thoughts of destined fate,

Or to kneel before a paradox of uncertainty

And, by pondering, seal it. To act, to choose-

No less-and no more by a seal to mark we wanderers

The ricochet and the million hesitance proceeds

That verbatim is to-‘tis a reincarnation solely to be tamed.  To act, to choose-

To choose, per say to adjudicate. Say, there’s the trouble,

For in the breath of act what fixed dispositions shall arrive,

When we have reborn into this conflicting world,

Must lend us rest. There’s the aptitude

That makes entity of fragile equilibrium.

For whom would clutch the ropes and emotions of mind,

Th’ persecutor’s wrong, the earnest man’s choice,

The wings of thoughts, the scholar’s absence,

The solitary of confinement, and the conflicts

That timid virtue of th’ treacherous steps,

When she herself plight her coup de grace take

With a mere cup of tea? Who would prison endure,

To cry and scream under series of darkness,

But that the agony of mystery after light,

The hidden treasure from whose free will

No wanderer appears, hence the desire

And forces us to endure those visons we have

Than cross to the unknown that lies in wait?

Thus principles does make us fools in the isolation

And thus the natural value of introspection

Is prevailing o’er with the contravening whispers of thought,

And emphasis of great rhythm and movement

With this note their tides in favor

And come to one resolution.