The world passes us by,

And we let it,

Floating, drifting,

Weightless, lost.

 

It is hard to say, exactly,

At what point we become undone.

When do we realize

We don’t truly know ourselves?

 

Our dreams speak volumes,

Untouched, unreached.

Our wishes tell of who we are

And what kind of people we hope to be.

 

It is unsettling,

To be meandering,

Without a path in sight,

Without a goal in mind.

 

But life is reticent,

Arcane, esoteric.

It’s full of sharp turns

And sudden obstacles.

 

It is hard to predict,

So abstruse the world is,

What to look forward to

And what to dread in your future.

 

The past may indicate

Some of what’s to come,

But little else,

Can be foretold.

 

Life’s mysteries are vast,

So one must yield

To live a recondite life,

And surrender to passing the world by.

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