Target established, this unit will relay, Pieces aligned, a picture display. Cut with precision, A clear division. Mind's game of logic, in fragments at play.

What irony, or trick of eye, To ascribe to things, what they deny, Such that a thing becomes defined, By what it simply won't abide, And so becomes identified, By what it chose to cast aside, Not by what it holds inside, But that without, which we have spied

Hidden numbers, only counted with each delicious bite, Fuel for life's ceaseless motions, in the day or night. A unit of measurement, though difficult to keep in sight Each gives you energy, regardless if taken in misery or delight

I am the silence between two heartbeats. The gap between the thought and the word. To the rich, I am a threat; to the poor, I am a crown. If you seek me, you have already lost me. What am I?

I am always true, except when spoken. I prove myself by failing. I cannot exist alone, yet I collapse if paired. I am strongest when denied, and weakest when believed. What am I?