Maybe this is just going to be yet another droplet into the infinite sea that is the worlds collection of poems,
And maybe none of this matters and in some years our time will be over and, like a drop in its own ocean, will seem almost protozoan.
Maybe, just maybe, this world is too big for us, too expensive to grasp,
And maybe when we die and the darkness closes in, we won't cry when we let ourselves unclasp.
Possibly, perhaps arguably, love only exists to force reproduction, maybe its all only psychology and chemicals,
And I know that might sound quite polemical,
But when existence is but a labyrinth littered with sorrow round a great many of the turns one learns they don't live long without being at least a bit skeptical.
-----Like---------Comment--------Share-----
01-27-16.
Old but thoughts?
