
If one’s life is all there’ll ever be,
Rising from sperm and egg connection,
A mere accident, done randomly,
There is no point in deep reflection.
If this is so, when one breathes their last,
It’s oblivion lays final claim.
Despite how many eons have passed,
Mankind has played a farcical game.
How ludicrous is this conclusion:
Man’s life reduced to that of a plant?
Power of reason, self-delusion;
Stature, no more than that of an ant.
Man’s lofty concepts of God, inane,
Regardless of what clerics might say;
And good works would have been done in vain,
If we find there is no judgment day.
Man’s ambition and accomplishments,
Exercises in futility.
Struggles, suffering to make no sense,
If this life is all there’ll ever be.
Is it likely mankind lives for naught,
Where goodness, love and noble ideas
Count for less than baubles we have bought?
The answer to this should quell all fears.

© By RickMack (rmrickmack@aol.com)


The Fish Kite
A Sleigh Ride
Cold Winter Morn
Winter Storm
Old House ( 10 Authors)
Bonding With Children (12 Authors)
Heart To Heart
Shadows Among The Mist
Simply Lie
When I Close My Eyes
Playing In The Snow ( 13 Authors)
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