When all is quiet, I breathe out,
And can almost hear my heart,
As it beats in metered rhyme.

And I think of so many things,
Like mortality,God, and reason,
And the quickening of time.

And I find that all my thinking,
Does very little to even no good,
Just wasted hours it seems.

If we are just only heartbeats,
No just cause or purpose here.
Why do we have dreams?