Is it really all that absurd,
to only want, then, to be heard,
to have my words finally read,
both before and after I am dead?
While I again seek to just find
life's hidden fruit within the rind,
the answer to all her mystery,
without any need of a Bodhi tree.
For meaning's silence does echo,
never sharing all that it does know,
all that it selfishly hides,
never predictable as the tides.
So, I roll every rock up every hill,
in an eternal tournament of will,
where I cannot win, cannot lose,
no matter which stone I then choose.
Knowing there is little I can do,
except listen to dear old Camus,
with just one promise to then keep,
as I take one more existential leap.
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Author:
Libellule (
Offline) - Published: May 24th, 2025 04:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments2
Very well rhymed and with such good flow this poem has a deeper message and speaks of acknowledgement in this life as well as after. Nicely done
Beautifully written, enjoyed the read
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