The sun begins to rise in the distance,
The moon still clings to the horizon's edge,
Reminders of Creation's existence,
And the meaning of my unspoken pledge.

The words in my heart, vast and meaningless,
Much like the existence of everything,
To anyone else they may seem listless,
To my soul, there is a comfort they bring.

At the end of the day, nothing matters.
This trivial existence is for naught.
Self-fulfilment through sex, drugs, or chatter,
To make it through the days that He has wrought.

Another day dawns with no end in sight,
Oblivion has not arrived this night.


Penned by my hand on the 19th of Phaestian, in the year 788 AF.