Why do we pour ourselves into anyone
Or anything, if not to forget?
And why do we do anything at all,
If not to escape; why, if life
Is so hard, do we fight to live it?
Do we find beauty in its faults,
Or love in its intricacies; is there
Some state of grace we can achieve,
Or are we all merely surviving
Through our allocated existence?
Can there ever be more?
Is happiness real, or only
A dream of humanity; did we
Invent it, to give some meaning to
The years spent crawling on this earth?
If we are so evolved, why are we
Also so entrenched in destruction;
The using up of our resources,
The race towards our own ends?
Are we ever truly alive?