Sometimes I feel like I\'m dying,
In a world where I\'m just sick of trying,
Life isn\'t something we choose,
It\'s a game which we ultimately loose.
So why do we play, If we know our fate,
What is the point when we visit the gate,
What can we say to the all knowing being,
All loving, All knowing, And apparently all seeing,
Maybe to please him we must be kind,
Treat others fair, with him in mind,
Be who we believe him to be,
But how is that possible when its him we can\'t see.
Here is a thought, at the back of all minds,
It\'s just some are afraid to give it time,
What happens if he does not exist,
Nothing more than a elaborate myth.
Something invented to give us a purpose,
To insure that reality never does surface,
That after our time,
At the end of the rhyme.
Nothing waits,
There is no fate,
Alone we will rot,
In a hole, on a plot.
So if this is true, its a scary thought,
Perhaps the myth is just more easily bought,
Because its not death we fear, not in the end,
Its being alone, without a single friend.