Events transpire, gaining much
And leaving little to acquire
Net effect remains constant
As we come and go, causing much
To entwine, to forego, to become
To seek endless change and conspire
Dealing sameness to the world
And in the end, behold the entire
The significance is in the mire
A baby's breath is added to behold
And questions of significance re-told
That what we toil and sacrifice
And the critical mass, our demise
A loss, too much to comprehend
And seeking a different sort of revenge
Weakening, just like the rest
Ever pushing on, just like a test
Which never ends, tiring nonetheless
The significance is in the mess
2 comments:
I read this and it takes me to a very exhausting place where we work and slave, amass, and live and yet the troubles are never quite over, the stresses are everlasting, the purpose of the drudgery we endure is lost on most, but in our minds we make up these reasons, IE: a baby...makes one feel so hopeful, but for what? Its like asking someone to provide the answer to Why are you having a baby, give me one, non-selfish reason...well? Pretty soon you'll make something up, push over it, and continue on..but for what? Sorry if I got it wrong.
This is the impression left:
First of all the writer must be pretty depressed. To feel that we toil in the petty, continue to amass, lacking the ability or intelligence to understand what it all means, the significance is lost on all, or muddied by the daily drudgery, and little hopes, IE babies, give us another mired misdirected break, then we go back, back to the slavery that is life.
You are totally Sophic Chad Kanotz
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