Life Is Fleeting
Life is fleeting.
An open gateway closed without warning.
Your thoughts are as questionable as your existence.
Time takes itself to be enduring.
And it is the only concept with reality.
What is a clock?
Without it's hands? Or Numbered display?
A mere illusion!
Created by somebody.
Why do some work,
while others sloth and laze to their desires?
We are forgetting to think for ourselves.
We dive head first into knowledge.
To absorb it's intoxicating vigor.
To realize that,
no matter what you learn…
Your brain is merely a sponge.
It has power to absorb,
and somewhere there is a maximum capacity.
Even in the end.
We divulge with others.
I believe that the words that we speak.
makes us proud.
Proud to make the world smaller.
In the beginning,
there was less.
Or was it that they were right,
and we were wrong?
To the utmost outer existence,
somebody created words.
Somebody gave concept to it's meaning.