It’s ever the endeavor to weather the ceaseless storm,
the tumult with which time tests our devotion to a task.
Do we persist in our practice, our honing of hard work?
Or do we coast, roasting and relaxing in the casual sun?
Ever the question entering our mind: to do or not to do?
One risks boredom while the other a state of futility.
Either path plagued by fears, progenitor of wants and wishes.
But activity is life, we die doing, no matter what’s done.
Impulses pushing, urges underlying actions, setting a course.
Resisting the pull, or plunging with trust into a goal preset.
Lost to visions of outcomes both pleasant and tragic.
Reliance on magic to fulfill figments, fragments of truth.
Embracing the fiction, a fantastical reality of chatting apes,
competitively cohabiting a rock coated in puddles and plants,
under a flickering light, chasing daydreams, illusions of structure.
Where do we go from here, but to awaken from our dreams.