Untitled Like My Life Poem by Oleh Wolansky

There will be no end to the glory if all were one.
It won’t matter, any of those things that possess us.

They are all unknown objects strewn before us by time.
In the whirlpool of this dimension, all is as mentioned in a constant motion.

This is the fruit of all labors:
To become an anti-thesis of the self
Yet precluding all being by preserving oneself
And the course will decide which to choose for its endeavors.

If we are fundamentally the same, our lives intersect like so many lines.