To Bloom, To Wither


We bloom only to wither and perish,

it’s safe to say that life produces death.

So why chase life you don’t need to cherish?

There is no reason to take the next breath.


Setting goals gives a façade of false hope.

One can never be content with living,

yet we reach for something beyond our grope

The search for happiness: unforgiving.


The living are temporary and brief,

the dead remain and cannot say goodbye.

This sonnet is summed in my firm belief:

all life fears death, but lives only to die.


There’s no need to fear the imminent tide.

The day you were born, you already died.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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