life, for what purpose

to what end do we exist, or do we?

dwelling in the pain of human finitude

with transient joys, to what end



do not the beasts of the field have more purpose?

finding happiness and meaning,

is it even possible in their world

can we even control what matters?



a reason and a season for this perpetual autumn

my dreams are as stormy clouds, fast approaching

yet tomorrow never arrives

for we are destined to shuffle on and off



we live, we die, we know not why

what is this life

is it even meant to have meaning?

breath, eat, love, shit, work

and then …..

© 2020 michael d emmerich

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