Living For No Reason

What’s the meaning of life?

There’s a question you don’t hear much these days.

How much money do you have is more common.

What do you do often the first thing you ask

when meeting someone new.

Is there intelligence elsewhere in space, almost 

a joke these days.

The questions now are common, the answers mundane.

Mere survival now the point for the human strain,

taken for granted the world of today.

Not much do we wonder, staring into the sky.

Too many people, too much information, too much

going on in the cloudy cloud to ask the question why.

If life has no purpose, why bother at all?

Because we can’t help it, too afraid of a fall.

Precious it is, the life that we have, 

lost among re-runs each day it does pass.

What’s the point again? Evolution?

That’s what some people say.

How do we do that? Build our muscles,

build a house on a shore, watch the sunrise,

the sunset, quote the raven: nevermore?

A rhyming poet, means my time’s almost up.

Words run out like the breath when it’s gone.

Living for no reason I still haven’t found

the grace note to my life,

to anyone’s life,

my gravestone:

“He tried”