Mortal

So it goes:
Life.
In out.
Nothing turned to something
and becomes nothing again,
legacies fade too…
There is hope
in knowing our diseased ideas
die too.
Eventually.
Pink girls;
blue boys.
Are these lies fixed?
Can we escape?
Are we stuck on this island?
Surrounded,
clueless.
Existentialism consoles us:
all we have are thoughts –
theories
to try control.
Adrift at sea;
deep waters,
shallow thoughts.
The waves rock the boat
and we rock along too.

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