1/2/2021
contemplating human existence
as I'm trying to hang on to a purpose
for it is laughable how we think we matter in the great scheme of things
as if we're not insignificant, just tiny mindless, erratic beings
and it might be pessimistic to perceive life in such way
but is it not true that we are just puppets in a cosmic child's play?
cursed with imminent mortality and limited abilities
self-serving actions and pointless affinities
and yet we feel so strongly as if we can hold worlds on our backs
die for earthly causes, kill for loved ones
but does it even matter in the end?
when the only thing that's left is the vague fading memory in the perishable minds of the bereft?
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ
Poetry𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨 (n.) 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘤 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯; 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘻𝘰𝘯 Poems posted daily, for every day of the year. Works of an undefined theme with a touch of fantastical elements as well as a healthy dose of r...
