What is this?
This life of ours.
It can't be seen, nor felt, nor heard.
With it, we do what we wish.
But for what purpose?
Have we an audience?
Or are we in our own grandiose world?
Why are we here?
Who keeps score?
After my life, what am I?
What am I now?
Am I real?
Of course I am; but are you?
How can I be sure?
If there is nothing to life and nothing after,
Then why does it exist?
For what purpose?
Why is life?
Why are we?
What are we?
Are we our masters?
Are we pawns to a greater plan?
The greatest questions...
The biggest questions...
But no answers...
YOU ARE READING
The Big Questions
PoetryI think of existential and philosophical things sometimes and it's very fascinating to me. These are just some questions I've been asking but are impossible to answer.
