If every moment,
Like a seashell tossed on a rocky beach,
is made to shatter,
And feelings are not meant to last forever,
Does anything truly matter?

If our fates have been fixed,
And our actions are dictated
By manuscripts,
Is free-will just a romanticized
fantasy?

Must I live a life of acquiesce,
Allowing myself to be prodded by the waves?
Must my time merely consist of
Futile attempts to squeeze into
A procrustean bed?

Are there no dreams,
So inciting and mellifluous,
Worth fighting for?
Is there any sense in
Pretending to be free?

I am not content to sit back and watch
My future drift away like a ship at sea.
I can be passive no longer.
Though my efforts may be unavailing,
I will grapple with the current,
Claiming sovereignty.
And if I am to fail,
Let me plummet like an anchor,
Into the dark, liquid,
Abyss.