The Illusion of I

Beset by boredom of mind I ponder the illusion of I Conceptually I doesn't exist but this fact is hidden from eyes I is an illusion of minds similar to lakes in a desert A mirage comes in the form of delusions of a self never measured One with all in which we are measured if it weren't for I in the middle We unconsciously took on this persona now we find ourselves in a riddle I isn't the center of things but it finds itself at the core Who planted this apple of eyes inside our minds corridor? Closer than one's paramour it elicits secrets to hide In reality it's illicit by nature but we go along for the ride Next time I comes around ask from where it has come If you stop to study its acts you'll see an enemy of one