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.



Running around in circles

I detest this endless routine

Tired of waking each morning

To dreams that remain unseen


Chasing after fantasies

I grow sick of living this life

Nothing to show for my effort

How can I say that I tried?


Nothing is left for me here

But the path to nowhere I’m on

Exhausted beyond my limits

The end has finally dawned


Sleep overcomes my body

I can no longer stay awake

Been fighting myself for too long

While slowly fading away


Release my mind from this place

I travel to another world

Let me close my eyes forever

Please don’t wake me when I go


Author’s Note:

Some days I just feel completely exhausted.  Both physically and mentally.  There are days when I’ll let myself sleep in for a little, only to have  restless sleep plagued with dreams of good and bad.  On those days, I don’t want to get up.  I don’t want to “live life” by going to work and doing the same thing again and again.  Is there more that is meant for me?  Can I break free from this cycle I’m in?  I’m exhausted… but I keep going, even when I don’t want to wake.

In the piece above, the theme of “going to sleep” could be both literal and figurative for a more permanent sleep.  Sometimes, we just want to get away and go to another place.

Do you find yourself weighed down by exhaustion?


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.


Remember Me

Will you remember my name when I’m gone?

Or is it just out of reach from the tip of your tongue?

Like a dream that was dreamt many nights ago,

All but forgotten when you try to recall.


Will you remember my face as it was?

From a time before torment and pain took its just cause.

When every smile was genuine and true,

And our eyes saw clear without a hint of doubt.


Will you remember the sound of my voice?

Clear as still water, before it was lost in the noise.

A whisper in your ear when you fell down,

That gave you the strength to rise up yet again.


Will you remember my tender embrace?

When in my arms together the darkness we’d displace.

As your fears would retreat and cease to be,

Like the dark from the light that a new dawn brings.


Will you remember me when I am gone?

Or have I faded away as it’s been far too long?

Like a footprint in the sand that’s washed away,

All that remains are the echoes of what was.


And they too shall fade away.


Author’s Note:

Well, it’s been some time since I published anything here on WordPress.  It feels good to finally put up another piece.  Things have been a bit a bit turbulent for me, and I haven’t put in the time to write as much or post for that matter.  I’m still around though.  Normally I’d have thoughts or elaborate a bit on the above writing here in this “Author’s Note” part, but I might try something new.  Until then, what do you think?



Lost in my musings of you
Feeling you around me
Thoughts floating by
I feel something
Touching my skin
Is it you?
Or memories of you
Passing by
Waiting for me
To catch what I can

You elude me.


Author’s Note:

This piece was written by a friend who wishes to remain anonymous.  These words belong to that person, and I have posted at that person’s request.


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