Literal Gibberish

Metaphorically speaking, a sage's voice whispers,
Words of wisdom cloaked in mists and shivers.
Yet amidst the profound, emerges a twist,
Literal gibberish, a puzzling tryst.

Who can discern the how and the why,
The patterns that underlie the sky?
And who could possibly care with such fervor,
More than I, the seeker, the observer?

Why does the rhyme beckon and call?
Why do these verses rise and fall?
Pondering the purpose, the rhythm, the time,
But who am I to unravel the sublime?

All I grasp is the breadth of my ignorance,
A vast sea of unknowns in opulent abundance.
And all you hold is your own resistance,
Declaring you won't seek the distance.

You won't ever truly grasp what I harvest or cultivate,
The inner workings of my world, my own unique state.
For I, I am an enigma, not akin to thee,
A separate entity, a soul untamed and free.

I am not thy brother, not thine ally in this dance,
I am the cryptic, the enshrouded, the happenstance.
In the realm of riddles, questions unfurl,
I stand alone, a mystery, a different world.