Final worth.

May 14, 2008

I haven’t known what to believe anymore

Since I was left here to die –

All those well-meaning people say

I only need to get up and try –

But like a sack of raked-up leaves,

Their loveliness all used up,

I sit here – frozen and unable

To make anything of what’s left of my luck –

Because that’s what it is, friend

It’s all a big toss to the wind,

This business of loving and living,

Barreling towards an unknowable end –

And since nothing is ever made or unmade

As far as our feeble minds can know,

Then who’s to say I was here at all

When it’s finally my turn to go?

I’m just a piece of what was already here

When my mother bore me forth

And to that pile of rocks and road I’ll return

When I’ve proven my final worth –

The joke is all on us, I’m afraid,

And I cannot help but laugh

At this cruel and endless cycle

That renders useless each human breath.

(c) 2007 Minds Erased.

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2 Responses to “Final worth.”

  1. Mardé Says:

    Nice poem, Minds Erased. Yes, I often — very often — feel the same way. Who’s to say I was here at all. I often think of my ancestors. They had their lives, their loves, their passions, sufferings, etc., etc. But where are they now? They begat me. But where are they now? Nowhere. We have to invent heaven or hell, someplace where at least they might be. But the overwhelming evidence is that they are nowhere. Where is nowhere? Nowhere.

  2. Mardé Says:

    GAD! I’m depressed after that!


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