How to Live?

Is it a question

or is it simply an act?

It seems to be unquestionable

because by questioning it you are automatically

doing it, so what is it?

We walk with a planned destination,

yet we have no concept

of where we are going. 

We see and still cannot see

exactly what is before us.

What is it?

We just accept and believe

what we hear from evidence 

discovered by ourselves.

Every day is different, yet

everyday is the same.

What is it?

Time has no meaning, they say,

but if it did would we know?

Good is good, and

bad is bad.

Man kills man to save man.

Good is bad, and 

bad is good?

What is it?  

Thoughts? Ideas? Truths?

I do not know.

I am just living

or am I?


This poem is about: 
Our world


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