A World We Are Born To

There's a crown upon my head,

one that compresses the thoughts,

however, some related truth comes to mind,

perhaps the world was not made for the strong,

but to make the weak strong,

perhaps the dead do not sleep,

they hang above us,

reminding us of what we can never be,

perhaps there is no good or evil,

not in the respect given to us,

but rather in that the thoughts are contagious,

and the contamination spreads like wildfire.

Memories are useless,

the only ones who wish to be remembered are those breathing,

the dead could hardly care as they are mute to most.

It is our egos that keeps us hidden,

and it is our vanity that rots us to the core,

and yet despite our want to be the best,

we are forgotten,

when we do not wish to vanish, 

and disintegrate alone in the dismal abyss of our own mind.

We live only once, but we die everyday.

we die with every sigh,

we die with every complaint,

we die every time we are remembered,

because there is the inevitability of another who forgets.

Life in itself is a grand paradox,

one that has no tangible truth,

but drags us around on its tail.

It is one of the few that forces us to think,

to contemplate on our existence,

until we glance away and realize,

there is no purpose in our creation,

and that we are here simply to waste time,

a time that we can utilize to our preference,

and create excellence in a world we're born to.