Friday, April 8, 2011

The Question?

What am I doing here?
What is this life of stupid cares?
Why do I spend time typing and sending packets through the air?

They go without the aid of wire;
Yet I am in a cloud, bound
to an imitation aeron chair.

Why can't I be like Prometheus
and rebel at three times treble?
What am I doing here?
maybe I should have killed my dreams
I should know by now that
they will only be dashed
like a piece of fragile earthen ware
why scheme and take on other people's dares
just to prove that we should be rated as men not mice
people get silly and throw the dice twice
don't tell me its because of the lexicon of the Rubicon
I won't buy your semiotics
As I travel like an unthinking missile;
eating up miles in the thin air
going through my mad career,
I pause and stare
what am I doing here?

personally many times I wish I did not want
would like to give up my silly cares
especially when life is ethereal
and after 3 generations people will forget me
just as much as they remember breathing yesterday's air
even though I am a progressive pilgrim
who did battle with the grim giant named Despair;
cleft him in two with not one stroke of my sword, but a pair
before he died he asked a question
whose damage I cannot repair:
"what are you doing here?"
"why must you persist with this life of stupid cares?"

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