The World is like the Endless Sea-

For there are many things meant to be-

Yet so much more still to come-


Any absolute prediction is complete fiction-

We are in no way-shape or form in the know-

Our lives are planted and continue to grow-


If we were to swim in the waters of life-

We certainly will not come out of it alive-

What is to be know is how fast we swam-

If we caught our breaths-gave up our strength-

Kept pushing on-or stayed afloat-

With the last breath-water enters our throat-


No words left to speak or preach

It is a silent death

Our sunken body is no longer our own

Just a decaying body-with no one in it


So what is left of our tragic story-?

We keep on swimming-get out by passing-

Should we all just wait to die?-

Do we help other stragglers make it by?-

Do we hand people a safety vest?-water wings?-

Is our life measure by how long we live?

Or the lives we save-not the breaths we take away-

The breaths we give and inspire-the stories we tell-

So they will no longer be forgotten-no longer unspoken.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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