Life Like Words

Maybe the world is a game.

If it is, then death is just the goalpost.

The timer. The only real rule.

If it is, then dying is our final score.

Working may be desperate.

Wealth or happiness may make a difference.

We all subsist strategically,

Gaining or lacking in different amounts.

Totality pressures us

To decide which pursuits prove worthy

Of conscious individuality

While it’s ours to compare and contrast.

It’s just a poem.

Writing, but we know it’s a burden.

Words are ours to choose

Until space confines us to a stop.

 

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