Is this life?

Who are we? Where do we come from? Why?
Questions, doubts, fears all travelling beside us
Through the deserts, through the meadows.
The sun’s too hot, the moon too cold.
Never enough.
Tired of waiting, of hoping, of asking ‘why?’.
Whether spoken or silent, the battle with feelings ending in treaties, compromises.
Was that it? Was it worth it?
Atoms, maybe strings, I, You, We, all the same.
So is this life? Just cruel imagination?

~ by spasmicallyperfect on August 12, 2007.