Oh the ennui of it all
Is living a meaningful existence a compulsion or it follows the natural course of life.
Life like a caged bird longing to be set free
I in my lonely world longing for attachment of some kind.
I reach out, I bend, I cry I plead but do not find a hand that reaches out to me.
Is this also, life or it is the inner torment of my heart and has little to do with a meaningful existence
Do we attach meaning to life to make it more joyful?
Is simply existing not living?
Why give meaning to existence?
Let its futility unroll
Ah perhaps another day I will be in a jubilant mood and find meaning in life.
I will also get away from this ennui and angst
Meanwhile let’s play the game of life?
Hmmm why insist?