And after all this…

The rising sun awakes our drowsy wits
our faces meet the chilly morning wind.
Across the fence the sparrow sweetly tweets
to kindly please our ears and sooth our mind.
We wait the day's uncertain promises;
unsure, afraid, we tread the trail of fate
until the day's last metamorphosis,
and spent, we dread the advent of the late.
So when unto its source our breath returns,
disarmed, the self unravels and dissolves
our hardware yields beneath the final blow;
aghast, the software halts and soon adjourns.
what next? see the mystery that revolves
And how the hell are we supposed to know?