I look at the vastness of this world
And rather than looking on in awe
I wonder why I have the audacity
To think I matter at all.
One little speck
On top of a slightly larger speck
In the midst of some more specks
Surrounded by billions of other specks.
Trillions of cells
That form a selfish creature
That form a waster of resources
That form an emotional wreck.
Why am I here?
Why do I bother to do anything at all?
Why do I love?
Why do I feel so much pain?
Life is not measured
By your accomplishments
Or how much money you have
Or how much you can remember.
Life is measured
By the amount of souls you have touched
By how bravely you loved
By how steadfastly you worked and believed.
If what I say is true
My life is nothing but wasted breath
And useless dreams that could not be real
And happiness that was superficial.
People may claim to love me
And they may believe that it's true
And they may cry at my funeral
But a week of mourning will wash me away.
If I can be so easily erased from the world
Why am I still here, what's the point?
Am I to suffer for the rest of my days?
Am I to live this lonely life til I die?
Maybe I should end it here.
Maybe I should muster up whatever courage
I have and end this on my own terms.
Maybe I should stop hoping.
But something in me refuses
To bid my relations farewell.
Something in me foolishly loves the future
And puts up a futile fight for tomorrow.
No, I don't know why I'm here.
I don't know why I try.
I don't know why I fight and struggle
But my soul whispers, "Stay."
YOU ARE READING
Tragic Poetry
PoetryHere, you will find a collection of sloppily written, heartfelt "poetry" (it can hardly be called that, as it has no rhyme or rhythm - only stanzas). These words stem from my late-night thoughts and fears. Although they are merely a mess of nonsensi...
