“What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil?”
Ah Shakespeare I sure hope we don’t simply rot in fertile soil.
There must be more- there must be more.
If there is not, what do we live for?
What are we to do? Who do I ask?
Is the answer hidden behind a mask?
Socrates I ask you, why am I hear?
Perhaps Van Gogh will lend me his ear.
If the greats know not, how do I find the answer?
Why are children killed? What about cancer?
Please someone speak to me.
I am sick of all this secrecy.
Maybe there is no answer, until we create it.
The future is history that can be recreated.