Poetrymann

I buried in The sound of her A touch Feel Heavy with the dusk Beneath and waiting soft Like a bruise

Within the boundless realm of existence, we stand as mere mortals, wrestling with a sense of entitlement, convinced that the world is indebted to us merely for our presence. But do we truly deserve praise and glory, for simply occupying space and breathing? Or is it a relentless pursuit, a race with no finish line in sight, a mirage we can never grasp? Our desires are insatiable, we crave more and more, Our yearnings, boundless as the starry night, In ceaseless pursuit of endless delight. Lands vast and treasures untold. We accumulate and accumulate, trying to make the emptiness whole. A comical display of our trivial vanities, and insatiable greed. What's the point of all this gettin'? To win some praise, some fleeting cheer, For all our shiny trinkets and treasures, Before we say goodbye and disappear? Beneath the soil, we shall return to dust, Our bodies, mere sustenance for the worms, As nature reclaims what was always hers. Shouldn’t we yearn for something else, a