And Yet, There Is So Much Good Stuff

With existential angst

I set myself apart

Wondering why and where and how

the horse got behind the cart

It seems so clear and cut and dried

and then it all can be denied

My comfort is, at least I tried

Though fate is on a slippery slide

Science fiction is our lives

What makes anyone believe?

My eyes, my ears, my soul,

my heart,

Simply put, cannot conceive

How any of this world can BE

But here it is, laid out,

a chart

hope and despair

in equal part



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