Jg Collins Poet Prose Poetry

Existence

Everything 
will die.
Then what’s
the
point?
What’s
the point 
to
life?
Why
life?
Why live
at all?
I 
think
therefore 
I die.
Was I
here to
learn,
to experience?
Was I 
here by 
chance,
kismet?
Is my
fleeting 
puff of
existence 
even
measurable?
Infinity,
time and
space.
I, unmeasurable!
Existence infinite,
as old as
time itself!
I will die,
but,
my existence 
never will.

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