Saturday, 22 June 2013

Dèr Mouw in uncharacteristically depressed mood about the purpose of existence

An insect seaward-swept from flowery home
has slid into the water from the wind:
a fish’s fin-beat downwards sucks it in,
a sea-gull’s wing-beat skims it off the foam;

a single skyward-whirled small grain of sand
lets torn limbs painfully sink by degrees;
and surging in from grey infinities
the current dumps it, dead, back on the land.

In life’s indifference I drift, apart –
its balance making me now trough now peak –

through thinking, feeling, striving vainly seek
the unknown that's steered my actions from the start,

and Someone, Something that I could forgive
the burden of the pointless life I live.

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