One day all this will be gone.
Our every whim uncatered for, until the end of time.
But what of now?
What can we do this very instant that would envelop the senses of the future,
And allow us a glimpse of our unfortunate demise?
Maybe we should build a time machine, travel forward an era or two,
Show ourselves the “meaningless of life.”
Maybe we could search for someone who has travelled back from the future.
They might have come back to see how life once was, innocent, unwary, and pathetic.
Why carry on something that will only end in failure?
What can we seriously hope to achieve in this, the futile glory of the grand scheme?
Stabbing ourselves in the back is how one could see it.
An arrow, fired by our bow of technological advancement, piercing our lungs of reason,
Halting the calls for a logical outlook.
So as I said, one day all this will be gone.
Post a Comment