(Since there is no separate thread on poems or poetry, I felt it may be proper to post within Literature. Here is a small piece from me today. You all are welcome to post your writing on this here as well. Originally posted in my personal blog "A Philosopher's Stone".)

A cold place I know, a condensate.

Where energies grow, and so does fate.

I lack wisdom, and knowledge and information

To understand fully the transformation

Is that cyclic like nihilist thought?

Like the tides that we fight, and the tides that we fought?

I don't have a clue, and I don't have means

To know the signs or sines or sins

All my energies I derive from that cold spot.

Silently bright, darkly loud an eternal knot.