we are all lost
blindly searching for meaning
in a life where meaning is
a nine-five job,
a house left alone,
an engine for mobility

does the search ever end?

is being lost
searching
hopelessly for death?

is being lost
the potential
to live?

or
really just that?
misplaced?

is it anything at all?
or
n o t h i n g .

is it an escape?

is searching for meaning
being astray?
being found?
or created?

created from the pursuit,
from the struggle,
*from the meaningless
glide from moment
to moment
knowing only
that death is certain