Despite all my attempts at meaning
and all the intricate paths of
significance I have walked,
there is no meaning and there is
no reason for all of this living
that I have done; and the best
I can do in this futile life
that ends too soon
is to pretend that I believe
the lies that I tell myself about
what I have achieved and
how important it is.

I am an animal bent to survive,
like all the other creatures
that roam the earth and eat
and drink and die; and I am
curious about the world for sure,
and I think and wonder and dream
that it all makes sense and there
is some intricate order here, but I know,
if I am honest with myself,
that sense is senseless
and meaning is meaningless
and all things come to a pointless end.