Work and play and sleep
Lather, rinse, repeat
Round and round we go,
where it stops we already know

Six feet under –
walls of dirt and a bed of clay
Once we dreamed we were kings,
but it was only for a day

Beauty and favor are fleeting
Time is in on the joke
Yesterday’s hard-won prizes,
today go up in smoke

All love and labor are useless,
the final result is but one
In the end, our bags are empty
The final journey, we travel alone.


Going ’round in Circles

If man was truly meant
to live in this world,
then why was he born to die?

If death is the end
and not merely a door,
then why should I even try?

If it is but a cliche
to speak of such things,
it’s because no answer rings true

If no answer is true
with no reason to be found,
the problem must lie with my human-centric view.