Time spent on the current day,
Forgotten in future sway.
Lost in the moment.
For a moment and for time.

Escape is futile

The passage of time
Does not exist,
As our bodies perceive it.
Nothing short of death
Can stop its passage.

Escape is dangerous

I marvel at the idea,
Of stopping, staying,
Not having to... anything.
Not having to anything at all.
Not having to sustain or endure.
Not having to follow
The seemingly fate decided path
That is the cycle
Of the moving matter
That takes up the space
That I occupy.
That anyone occupies.

Escape is paradoxically pointless.

As everything and anything is,
Life is pointless.  
As nothing but moving matter,
My only biological function
Is to further the survival of my species,
To enable more endurers of my kind
To enter, "existence".  

As my mass slows,
All thought and memories
I have are lost.
To what have I accomplished?
Nothing of value,
Nothing unique,
Nothing of importance.

Whether or not I let pass
Another endurer into this place,
All I have done,
Is been part of the cycle.

Surely I would like
To leave a mark.
To better the world
Because of my influence.
However, to what more have I accomplished
Than changing the statue environment
Of those who endure.

To leave a legacy, is to extend a memory.

Nothing is permanent.
All is part of a cycle.
Nothing is of true importance.
Escape is unimportant.

Escape is inevitable,
The body cannot last forever.
The unavoidable moment will occur
In which the mind,
Due to its physical state,
Will cease to function.
Will quickly cease to exist.
Breaking down into the cycle.

No demand
Nor desire
Can stem the flow
Of time's passage,
Escape is as wasteful
As its counterpart.

To escape.
Meaning to end, stop,
Cease, die,
Or to not be,
Is a waste
Of what could and will be.
Those moments of joy
And sadness that will be lost.  

The sadness spreads
Through other's mourning.
Caused by a selfish action
That wastes the time of others.
An act that steals their happiness
Without using it for one's self.  

To continue is to
Pursue the earthly pleasures.
To hope that one may
Skirt the void
And it's moral dilemma.

To live is to
Selfishly seek a change
In one's state.
Be it happy or sad,
Slight or grand.  

To avoid the void is to
Blaspheme. To consider one's self
Able to avoid the clutches of death.
Immortality.
For we are all immortal
Until we are not.
When we are not,
It doesn't matter what we were
Or would have become.
Once one ceases to be,
One cannot wish to be or reflect.

Do I have a death wish?
No, as it is morally repugnant.
That enough is suitable reason
To stay in the world that is
Everything other than nothing.
To avoid passing into nothingness.

In hard times we wish to stop.
To seek the relief of
Not having the stresses of life.
However, upon death,
No relief is gained,
No stress is lost,
No happiness or acceptance found.  
For one simply is not.
Simply, one does not be.
Does not exist.

Being nothing seems
No better than anything.
For at least being something
Is comprehendible.