Existential Musings

Dedicated to Albert Camus.

Some external force
compelling me to write
is this God?
feels more like an exploration
into the nature of me.
words on a page
or on screen
don't justify life

still, they do a better job
than wasted hours of Diablo
or Phantasy Star Online.

I'm self-referentially ubiquitous
describing things I can't touch
feel or taste...
sometimes you just know.

would it be overly religious of me
to wonder whether I'm here for a reason
or some random act of universal kindness?
the Gods surely aren't humorless,
filling the depths of this wondrous place
with such utter absurdity

if God loves all her children,
why then, does she let us
do such hateful things to ourselves,
each other and the world?

Questions that can never be answered,
asked by one who claims not to care.
Absurdity still reigns.