At moments such as this, you look around
And wonder what‘s the next, best thing to do,
As if, in painting walls or breaking ground,
There lay the way of validating you.
And yet it’s clear to any ding-a-ling
That life’s as meaningless as nuts in May;
Although you can’t not do a single thing,
It make no sense at all to seize the day.
So, lying there, you stare holes in the air
And think about who put the “I” in “it”
And how you could have grown up anywhere;
It wouldn’t matter, not one tiny bit.
And, in the end, you make a cup of tea
Although that’s hardly why you came to be.
Photo by Egor Lyfar on Unsplash
Stasis
