We are finite.
Each of us,
Limited — In light,
                    In heart,
                    In purpose.
We are ants,
Scurrying
Between raindrops.
Lost in hives,
Lost in war,
Lost in consciousness.
We are a ticking clock.
We are dying love.
Clinging — to hope,
                     to family,
                     to possessions.
Terrified of the truth.
That there is no order.
That there is no meaning.
That there is only fear.

I want to let go —
To leave this pain
                this emptiness
behind.