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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