sands of time bury the greatest of achievement,
the gravestones wither and take with them the names etched into those stones,
great men and women lost in the wind,
I’ll be lost in the wind,
these fears and anxieties,
worthless thoughts of reputation and concerns of other peoples opinions,
will mean nothing when the body is hollow.
So what’s the point in being concerned about such things?
what’s the point in feeding the fears,
in living anxiously,
in diming one’s own shine,
in reducing suffering which then reduces pleasure,
in avoiding pain,
in suppressing one’s dreams,
in allowing the illusion filled tomorrow to dictate the actions of the present.
just names that are occasionally remembered, for now,
one day their names will not toll.
Who are you?
that you think what you do is worthy of being remembered,
think of the meaninglessness and be free,
think of the pointlessness and be free,
think of the absurdity and be free,
think of death and be free.