Maybe, this is poetry

maybe, this is poerty.... maybe.

What ties us to this life???

What ties us to living??

Is it primal?

The basic instinct,

for survival?

Is it so that the species will endure?

Is it primal?

Or is it something more??

What keeps us here, when depression is weighing us down?

Is it the feeling, that all the sadness,

that it will all eventually be worth it?

in the end?

And what about the end?

Do we await it,

like a child, on Christmas,

or do we cast every thought of it away with dread?

I guess, it depends on who you ask

and maybe,

even,

when.

And, what about the end?

Is there even,

an

end, at all?

It is said, that death,

comes as a Stranger,

but leaves as a Friend.

Author's Note

I've passed through a wormhole. It's Feb. 1st, here.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

A lot of interesting questions in this one. It asks not so much why we are here as why do we persist. Perhaps it is indeed because we believe that somehow it will be all right in the end. But that lead to speculation about the Big End, the eternal sleep. No final conclusion is offered, but I liked the upbeat tone of the last verse. Well done.

[Light and ashes]

thank you. i appreciate your review.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Does poetry do the same thing?
I wonder.
And yes, this is poetry.
Poets often bring up being "like a child at Christmas."
I am getting so old, I hardly remember what that was like.

j.

[Light and ashes]

I was never a normal child, at Christmas.
It just works so well.

Thank you, jacob erin.