Futile

What is it we leave behind?
Is it our loved ones and kin, our children?
Is it our deeds, our creation?

All we leave is infinitesimal.
A footprint, in the desert of time.
Something that exists and is remembered for but a moment
Then turns to dust, as all else must.

So what is left?
What do we amount to?
Does our legacy matter?

In the grand spectrum,
nothing is left,
we don’t matter.
So let it all burn to ash.
Let your ideas of being remembered wash away
Focus not on the future nor the past.
For what is now is all there truly is.
What we do now controls what will be.

We live, we die.
Do what you want, when you want.
Because in Death there is nothing.

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