What is the point of madness
this rat race
this outdoing of ourselves
time and time again,
when does it end,
death?

And who’s counting the days,
you or me?

The completeness of our lives
is it weighed on merit?
Self-accomplishment?
Maybe a little of both?
Maybe neither?

What do we do when our intuition becomes corrupted,
when the things we thought we wanted have blurred lines
and no direction.
Do we keep repeating the same old story?
Take a new path?
Perhaps what justifies our actions could be all that truly matters.

© 2025 Michelle Cook

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