Some people come into your life for episodes,
Some people come into your life for seasons.
You never know where that road could lead,
Experiencing emotions, you could not believe.
I have walked that road once, it is a sight to see,
Different emotions I now grieve.
It never is easy, it never is hard,
The rain before the storm, the noise before the calm.
I am not yet sure where this path will take me, no one is.
Life is but a mystery, one that I shall live.
A Superficial Existence
A Life without direction,
A Life without substance,
A Life without Joy,
A Life without Sorrow.
Stagnant and deteriorating in this simulation titled, “Life”.
We give labels to this being, trying to quantify it in any form that gives us purpose
Education, Occupation, Positions and Relationships.
Numbers to determine our worth, Standards to determine our fate
The “man” dictating our life on a schedule
Study, Pause, Work, Repeat.
Convincing ourselves that there is meaning behind these actions, all leading to a greater goal.
This endless cycle, with the only end result we’re sure of.
The sweet release of death
The truth is without all these machinations, titles and definitions we are naked
Brought bare to this world, for what reason though? If I may ask
Hunger, Famine, Strife, War?
Grief, Heart ache, Pain and Depression?
With infinite possibilities there is infinite destructibility
So, what is the goal?
Like the depths of the sea, unknown.
In this rat race we call life, there is no escape;
From poverty to luxury
From loss to gain
We are all but humans, we are all but the same
Status, rank, power, fame
All but trivial in this unfair game
Minutes, hours, days, years
Such a short life, yet such long tears
In a world governed by money and greed, material items that grow off a tree
We hold all our hope in the powers that be;
Where did we stumble? Where did we fall?
Our fates sealed by a gavel and a hall
Live, Laugh, Love
Die, Cry, Break
It is all but futile, it is all but fate
As I remarked earlier, again I shall state
In this rat race we call life, there is no escape.
Below The Surface
Lacking an identity,
Your presentation a farce, a culmination of strangers;
Drifting through this world, a shell of a man.
Acceptance your jail,
Impressions your warden,
Never knowing how it feels to create or imagine.
Never displaying yourself true, in fear of your environment
Do you enjoy this? Equating validation to your happiness?
Dishonesty your elation, Truth your sorrow.
Living through other people, while dying on your own?
This isn’t life, and this isn’t living,
But can you afford to start again, from the beginning?