Futility

Why do flowers bloom when they’re destined to die?

Suppose it’s just for a moment of sunshine and rain,

To wither and die only for the cycle to start again.

Like the songs that birds sing which fall on deaf ears;

Carried in the wind of long-forgotten memories,

Through trees without leaves on mountaintops to barren fields below.

 

Why do they sing,

When their songs will die?

 

Why does the sun still cast its light on blue skies?

For it too will go dark as the universe grows old,

To drift in eternal decay along the path where death strolls.

Like flowing rivers to dust turned in old years;

Where dreams lay in sad silence by headstones with no name,

In desolate graveyards and moldy tombs they found far below.

 

Why do they dream,

When their dreams will die?

 

Why do they continue to live with this lie?

A foolish belief of purpose and that of self-worth,

That somehow they matter in life as if not dust on this earth.

Like shifting shadows that lurk in deepest fears;

The cold presence of death unseen stands eagerly by,

To claim the lost we are for his domain of the void below.

 

Why do they live,

When they are destined to die?

 


Author’s Note:

Why do we live when we are destined to die?

That’s the question of the ages.  Are we an evolutionary blip in the cosmic time scale?  Perhaps part of a much larger community in the universe of which we’ve yet to find once we’re deemed ready by their council.  Or maybe we were made to serve a higher power, and our time here is but a test of our character and faith.  All things die, and in an ever-expanding universe (in theory), eventually the stars will go dark.  Our memories lost forever in the void, and the monuments we’ve built reduced to drifting particles along a wave of energy that once fueled life on our planet.  Does what we do matter, or is it all done in vain?

What’s the point when our memories will fade, and our names are forgotten as the headstones decay?  To pass beyond the great veil at the end of life as our bodies return to dust.  Life is a gift, and though we will reach the inevitable end one day, the path ahead still lies before us.  Even if there is just a moment of happiness or joy, it’s still a moment more than none.  A moment to be enjoyed in the short time we have.  A moment, or day, to be seized.  But not in pride of one’s self-worth, for all the riches in the world have no more value than the dirt beneath our feet.

Is it worth finding purpose and a meaningful life in the face of an otherwise futile existence?  Perhaps in time, I too may find meaning before it’s too late, and walk among those who are no longer lost.  Without meaning or purpose, we are but dust blowing in the wind, lost in futility.

N

Existence

Despair sits upon my head like that of a crown on a king, casting a veil before my eyes that filter out the colors of life.

Desolation hangs around my neck, with one firm hand that reaches into my chest, holding my still beating heart in its cold grip.

A billowing cape of loneliness envelopes me like a smothering blanket that gives no comfort, but only suffocation.

From a dark abyss extend the chains of doubt that are shackled around my feet, anchoring me in place with the inability to move.

Seated on a throne of failure atop the highest peak of the highest mountain, surrounded by barren lands, my kingdom of emptiness.

Frostbitten winds whip at my naked body as the bitter cold bites into the marrow of my bones and the depths of my soul.

The pain has faded long ago, leaving a dull ache of numbness that flows through my veins, as I pray for death to come.

“Come O Death, and spare me from the curse of my existence.  Take my lands, and fill them with the dead. Let the rivers run red with blood once again.  Release me from this meaningless life!”

Death appears beside me as a shapeless shadow, placing one hand on my shoulder as it leans down to whisper in my ear.

“No.”

 


Author’s Note:

I really don’t know what to say tonight.  Maybe this piece is thought-provoking, maybe it’s cheesy.  Obviously, the kingdom isn’t an actual physical land, but rather symbolic.  The message is pretty straightforward, in a way.  We’ve all been there, hitting one low after another until it feels like rock bottom.  Only then to find out, there’s more falling to be done.  Some of us want to be released from this life, which can seem like a curse at times.  It’s the easy way out, sometimes seeming the only way out.

Is it possible to cast off the crown of despair?  Remove the pendant of desolation?  Tear away the cape of loneliness?  Break free from the chains of doubt?  Rise from a throne of failure?  The answer is something we all find in our time.  Or maybe, we’re just meant to live a tormented life of a miserable existence.  You decide.

N

The Cuts on My Feet

Desolate is the land of which my bare feet traverse,

A dismal emptiness of which is my curse.

The paths that lie before me do not have an end,

Forever going onward as I descend.

 

I’ve lost my way, straying from the path I started on,

Drifting through a world that never sees the dawn.

A day that lasts forever trapped in its twilight,

With a lingering sun that burns through the night.

 

Stumbling in a wasteland where day and night don’t differ,

Hope has ceased its flow like a dusty river.

The dirt beneath me cuts like shards of broken glass,

Piercing my feet with a hurt that will not pass.

 

An endless desert of dirt and blood speaks only pain,

Is there an escape or am I to remain?

Wandering forever as I’m waiting to die,

Cursed to an existence of eternal strife.

 

The cuts on my feet continue to fester and bleed,

As my will to live continues to recede.

Questioning my existence and wondering why,

Is it worth going on, and living this life?

 


Author’s Note:

Well, another piece with a cheesy rhyme scheme.  Why the rhymes?  I don’t know, it’s fun to do I guess.  That and using a few patterns.  It’s interesting to see the patterns in our lives, whether it’s our daily routine, a specific way of doing something, or a way we connect with each other.  Then, when it all falls apart, it becomes chaos.  But, there’s a pattern to that as well.  We don’t always see them, and sometimes it just takes a different view, or someone to point it out like those hidden images in another image.  Once we find it, we can spot it much easier whether it’s simple or extremely complex.  That’s enough of that for now, on to what I was going to say.

Have you ever wondered “What the hell am I doing?”

I’m pretty sure we all have at some point, and more than once.

How about, “Where am I going?”

Not in the physical sense of direction, of course, but in life.  The years go by in a blur, people come and go, the world changes around you, and you’re stuck in the same place with only scars to show.  No matter how hard you try, and what you do…  No matter how many steps you take in any direction, the glass just cuts into you again and again and again.  As you bleed out, you’re still searching, still going on, and what little hope you have of getting somewhere, or anywhere slowly drains.  Pain turns to numbness, and the thought of letting go becomes more inviting.

Yeah, sometimes it’s like that.

N

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