Every little things,
That may compel to this beautiful world
Every colorful hues,
That may strike our core.

A mind that is best to absorb,
And will lock as a robust orb
If this would all get full and faulty;
All will be for nothing.

But I must have mistaken,
It's still locked— delicately
Like a shimmering casket with some pearls,
And it would not be for nothing.

Oh, fulfillment or stoic?
From all the little things I'd learned?
Where did it all honed—
Through the colossal dirt and stones?

I can't! I couldn't grasp!
All of these fleeing tasks!
Like a flowing liquid leaking from its flagon!
Could it be? For just... nothing?

Maybe I must have mistaken once again,
But right now, my alibis may have prove some correct
All those potent connections— useless or not,
And surely, it would not be for nothing.

I must know everything, but I can't;
I may have exceed through the prescribed limit
I would have been baffled a hundred times—bleeding,

Though I must admit— it WAS really for something.