Oral tradition

Bees following soundwaves I can’t hear, among waves I hate.

Side to winds whispering in my ears.

Noise is a choice, a will to be disturbed.

Noise, I am unable to perceive any purpose.

My legacy is to believe,

I am the son of a mighty God,

all things and creatures and facts, must have a purpose,

this I am doomed to believe.

Purpose is being, becoming, transforming, movement.

That’s all about noise, like the white noise of stars, of ocean waves and blood in my vains.