This poem is free,
because doesn't have the desire,
to be more than a simple text tree,
full of misteries that we all admire.
Without the intention we can create,
happiness and hate,
or maybe it was not our intention,
but others ability to use imagination.
Saying nothing that can be qualified,
I keep trying to build it, from fire,
releasing the pain that cannot be defined,
pushing everything into the hire.
Monkeys jump from tree to tree,
some books were read by me,
like many of you could do,
since one plus one is equal to foo.
Foo is nothing,
while can be everything,
like the Dao is.
Your decision is in what you think,
is in what you can intercept,
fragments of perception,
when paying attention.