Those Needling Thoughts

Each day is a chance for recompense.

At most,
That something matters is the hope.
That it all adds up,
In the end,
To something just north of trivial in scope.

The heart chases wild dreams.

At what point are they considered foolish?
At what point delusional and mulish?
And to what point can disillusionment be tolerated;
Passion and desire subordinated?

The mind makes mountains.

And they crash into the insatiable sea,
Carelessly,
Meaninglessly,
Ceaselessly.

Body and soul transitory.

So while I breathe I flail and bash.
I can be too rash.
One day æther and ash.
Forgive me,
Even as I refuse to spare myself the lash.

Universal truth.

All that is amounts to nothing.
So better it is to strive,
To be considered a never-was,
Rather than a never-tried.

10-8-19