The Existentialist



This world is irrational,

It has no regualr pattern,

It is but an irregularity,

That is in the beauty of the universe.

We are but pawns,

Searching for life and meaning,

In meaningless things,


Are all Material,

And in the end we all return to the same place,

Rich or poor, Fat or thin,Tall or short,

We all return to DUST.

I am The Existentialist.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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