Too Late

How we spend our time
in endless ways
never questioning our inevitable end.
Past memories fade in expecting ways
last forever in a strange repeat of insignificant

We walk down a lonely shore
to contemplate madness.
Raw insanity in the face of the sea.
Waves continually crash upon objects, but
never realize its actions.

Why have we been captured by consciousness.
Strangely we find peace in stark motion.
We continue, act so as to stop the hemorrhage
of thought,
Is it pessimistic or optimistic to think futility?
what labels have been left undiscovered
to bring
yet more
consciousness into being?
I run.

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