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Is life all but existence?

Our existence is not absolute or unequivocal,

Nor do we find it will endure,

Be endless and forever.

We are gifted but its time.

We are honoured by its connections.

That all we possess is solely lent to us.

Yet it is a constant struggle to treasure,

To find something tangible to love, cherish and adore.

Emotions are brazenly cruel,

Scarring these future memories.

Who are you?

I’ve walked with you, but I know not who you are.

I question,

I wonder,

Searching for an answer.

Is life what I breathe in to it?

Is it my soul and spirits ambition?

The parts of my world I dream into reality?

Is it the darkness that consumes me?

That is now my legacy.

The terror I know?

The pain I carry?

Incessantly flitting between such tempestuous dangers,

I know neither myself nor my life,

The past, present or future bestowed to me.

Is it as simple as just merely existing?

That there is no greater reward to life at all?

Just a tedious moment,

Fleeting and brief.

That within a whisper,

Would never come to be sincerely missed.

© 2021 Alana Bembridge

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