Ode to the presumption of being nothing

Nothing so magnificent as the knowlege of being
Being alive, aware and asleep
Felling the light of sun while it burns you out so merceless
The wind freshly takes your senses away
The greenish trees so impossible to explain touchs the invisible part of being

And when the eleven suns rises so fast it´s time to move
Move foward, in time to something bigger assuring the presence of some kind of presumption that leads to no pressure, no pain and no doubts: being nothing is a delight to the soul and a gift to the body.