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What's The Point?
Craggy digits deftly scribble
Scrambled thoughts
Like snowfall on an unwilling canvas
Each a unique crystalline flake
A random one, a memory, a pain.
Some things to remiss,
Yet forcefully pervasive.
Some wistful vain recollections.
Scattered guilty shards
Faint hope. Unwilled. Lost faith
Life dotted with streaks of gray,
Uncontrolled. And unexpected
Reminiscent of a wistful youth
An unwilling participant in this wheel
Not conceived willingly.
Participating towards an inevitable end
No control, no choice
In face, in genes, in race, in place,
Just a human
What was, what is, what will be
What has always been
It’s all the same,
what’s the point?
Copyright ©
Marugu Mo
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