A vessel of sand and stone, wrought like iron into shape and form. From one form to the next ever changing the shape and woes; mere dust unto dust as the world arcs across the sky of unseen perspective. Subjectivity: an impossibility of shared truth as the observer tries and fails to solve the puzzle contained within. A change here and a twist there, no longer found akin. For what is the past, present, and faded idea of what is soon to come but a simple trifle of entropic tendencies upon which the mind edges upon. All within a physical form beyond what is thought to be containable, yet there it is. Nothing makes sense as the insanity of the ever present puzzle of ourselves thrashes and struggles to solve itself, for what good puzzle would find it's own solution but a boring complication. The loop shall be endless and the times will never come for perfections, bliss, and happiness. However, the journey shall always await. Seeking the impossible is the humanity within all and thus who cares about what the world thinks, who cares about the puzzle unsolved. The woes of our ideals try to find peace in disarray, yet no one asked who cares. In the end there is but a simple question along the path. In the end it is what I have been alluding to all along. What am I?

Answer: I am but the simple human condition that lives within all. The unsolved mystery of man.