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The Life We Know

Television sets, computers, malls, and cars.
Money, popularity, Facebook and Twitter.
We all know these things.
But, do they matter?
The life we live, everything we strive for, our accomplishments.
Do, they matter?
Is being president of the free world any different than being president of a dirty rock?
Do entire lives spent well and prosperous mean any more than a dead infant?
The answer, I’m sorry to report, is no.
We have everything, everything anybody could possibly have, but, it means nothing.
In the end, Facebook isn’t going to mean a whole lot, or even Twitter.
All the books you spent your time reading won’t mean a thing when you’re on the death bed.
All the books you wrote, or poems, or songs.
No, because when you pass on or even when your great-grandchildren have passed on, everything that anyone has ever done will mean nothing.
The Universe wouldn’t even notice if Times Square was filled with rotting corpses and fires, or if America just disappeared.
Yet, we build, we create, we live.
Our race destroys ourselves to build ourselves.
We mean nothing to the galaxy, or even the solar system, yet, we endure.
We keep growing, learning, creating life.
The human race adapts changes and learns.
We, together, create miracles.
We learn about the planet in which we live, we nurture it, and we pollute it.
Yes, for as amazing as we are, we are as well destroyers.
We are evil, we are good.
We are insane, we are normal.
We are a species that builds everything to fill our lives and create another world around us.
The life we know is one of meaninglessness.
A life of hard work, for nothing.
Pretend all you want that what you do is worth something.
Go ahead, nothing will notice.
Nothing at all.
Everything we do is meaningless.
Even this poem.





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