The age old question, ironically timeless
the deeper our wisdom, the more we are mindless.
If bliss is in ignorance,
and intellects a curse,
the books that we read, provide fuel for our hearse.
Since the moment we bloom,
as we come from the womb,
it is we who are doomed,
destined for a tomb.
For our lives lack purpose,
this thought that disturbs us,
that life is no more than,
a drop in the sea.
A sea that is endless,
a sea that is blind,
a sea that cares not for the ones left behind.
Whilst we struggle with strife,
to cling on to life,
it is slipping away,
every day after day.
No cares our objections, ignoring our cries,
some how, some way, what is truth must be lies.
My life must have meaning,
why else am I here?
Surely my fates not to just disappear.
Though painful reality,
it’s truth nonetheless,
It’s hard to accept and its hard to digest,
that no plan awaits me after I’m born,
no path and no purpose, no blueprints been drawn.
I simply exist, there’s no more than that,
our lives have no meaning,
and that is a fact.
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