Was I part of this?
Was I made for this?
Is it really needed?
The incessant question consume my mind
There is peace, but I have yet to find it.
Listening to chatter,
Can I possibly concentrate to what really matters
But what matters in actuality
Who has answers on anything
Internet is not all knowing
Are we an echo chamber of confusion?
I have more questions than statements
Could it possibly be linked to discontentment?
I just refuse to relent
Every word is an approximation of what I feel at best
How can I possibly term it poetry,
It feels like no rhyme, rhythm, pattern, effortless crumple of paper
We got new competition in writing now
People rely more and more on AI
The days soon to come, we will lose our skill to write
And then express, then speak our mind,
We'll recede, not able to think, a complete thought
The time has come to decide
Should we all leave for the mountains
to stay connected with our mind,
disconnected from the adverse future?