Answer:
I have a name written on me, but it isnβt my name. Men plant me, but I never grow. They look at me and see their future, rotting in my bloom.
I twist and turn and leaves a loop
I hold two meanings. With one I may be broken with the other I hold on.
I am what one cannot keep, two cannot hold, and three cannot destroy. What am I?
I can be simple or I can be complex. I can be found in this riddle or in everyday life. I can be shapes or even colors.
What made Cyclops quit teaching?