This Thing Called Life

What is life?

What is this endless sea of emotion and complexity?

This grief and this joy?

This pain and this comfort? 

This chaos and this peace?

This injury and this healing? 


What is this feeling? 

Does it always swirl in endless motion? 

Does it always end with no end at all? 

Does it always end with no answer? 

Does it even end?


Emotions fold into one another, completely inseparable,

Caught in this time we call life.

Stretching over the decades, centuries, and millenniums.

Everything intersecting, everything so diverse,

Every little detail holding a meaning for someone, somewhere. 


So many lives that I cannot imagine living,

And I will never live them.

So many unseen places, 

So many stories that will never be told.

Infinite details,

A complexity we cannot understand.


Religion building itself on the sorrow of the masses. 

People seeking for a hope.

Because in the end, we all feel alone.

And we are all profound thinkers,

Searching for the answer to this thing we call life. 




This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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