If oneís life is all thereíll 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,
Itís oblivion lays final claim.
Despite how many eons have passed,
Mankind has played a farcical game.

How ludicrous is this conclusion:
Manís life reduced to that of a plant?
Power of reason, self-delusion;
Stature, no more than that of an ant.

Manís 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.

Manís ambition and accomplishments,
Exercises in futility.
Struggles, suffering to make no sense,
If this life is all thereíll 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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