Filling the Slot

Could life be all that we see?

Or do we as creators have a key?

To a door which holds no end,

But to one where our souls are sent,

Can we pray to what we think?

Or is knowledge destruction’s link,

Time is of no essence when time is lost,

But what price to pay, what the cost?

Could this poem just be here to waste time?

Or is that for us to do, sit and make rhymes,

I like to write, you like to read,

Yet our lives seem pointless,

In this sea of breeds,

You could be black, hell, I could be blue,

Yet nothing is substantial,

Especially for you,

Laws are written, by the left hand of god,

Yet always they break from man’s façade,

Rules are written for the enjoyment of power,

When we question who controls it, we flinch and cower,

Words are built from space and dust,

Blow once with hot air, and make it combust,

Do what you feel, that’s why we’re here,

No reason to fret, worry or tear,

This may have extended more than we thought,

Yet what better things to do,

Then fill this time slot.