Your words ring truer by the hour,
How fraught with such outlandish strife
Is this absurdity called life.
We move from fully-quenched to thirst,
From failure to a double first,
From hopeless boredom, true ennui:
We suffer never-endingly.
Not least we face the fear of death,
And choking on our final breath;
But even if will simply sleep,
Those left behind shall wildly weep.
And yet to cut our sentence short,
Though tempting as a last resort,
Proclaims a winner this mighty curse
Whose fanfare taunts us in the hearse.
So stare the darkness in the eye,
And listen to its wistful cry:
Do not impart this wretched fate,
On anyone but those you hate.
By L.R. Chapman 2013
from Modern Melancholy