All the whirlwinds that you're caught in
seem to subside for another

At the peak of existence, your worldly presence - meteorically withers

templates of morality sculpt you in the guise of societies figurine

Life's an arc of luminosity that flashes with no time to intervene

Daylight's wasted on the quest of figuring out a plaque, title or conclusion

Chance are; purpose, concepts are menacing distractions, mere illusions.

Being alive in the same land your heart beats, & not in another hallucination

Is in itself the grandeur of appreciating this entire creation.