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Lost

For the lost, and those losing

He is lost
 
Alone
 
Is he dead?
 
Is he alive?
 
Trembling hands
 
Hold no answers
 
Only a fleeting escape
 
For he who can accomplish nothing
 
Has accomplished little    
 
When all hopes
 
Dreams and passions
 
Are encompassed by nightmares
 
Consumed by despair
 
And there is nowhere left to run
 
For what is life other than running?
 
“Life is a journey” they said
 
An eternal sprint, with only one possible end
 
Some run out of breath along the way
 
Others sprint until the very end and fall, exhausted
 
No sign of any finish-line
 
Melancholy clouds blur the skies
 
Or are they tears revealed in his eyes?
 
Where does the point lie?
 
Besides at the tapered end of a knife?
 
What is “living”?
 
When every moment of a “life”
 
Is merely slowly, surely,
 
Dying.
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