If there is a point to all of this it’s slipped me by
We’re born, sleep a lot, make love, wither, die.
Lessons we learn, trials we suffer through
Covered with sod or burnt, it is adieu.
I strive to make a difference, yearn to carve my mark
Battle genetics daily to change apathy to spark
Yet if there is a point I’m afraid I don’t see it now
Prithee tell me, I will be remembered how?
I wrote this an age ago – or so it seems. Though it’s still how I’m feeling, now.
Perhaps it just goes to show the cyclic nature of life … or maybe I’m just an arse? 🙂
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