The Countdown


Life is a countdown.
Being
    is a countdown…
         one that neither oppression
      nor sacrifice
can ever stop,
not before it has run its course.
And it will run its course, like all countdowns.

All things are ephemeral, even time.
It grinds on piously, studiously… to its end.
And through its ups and downs, and its turnarounds
it vainly searches for meaning,
and finds none…
none beyond itself.

We are time… encapsulated.
Hence, we are its meaning... embodied.

Or

we are nothing.
 

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