The Struggles Of The Fly
What reason is there to be?
When as far as I can see…
Everything seems so futile
Like the shadow on the sun-dial
Like the colors of the rainbow
Like the days of the week
Like the taste of Black Sea caviar
Like the struggles of a fly
Caught in the sticky web
Moving it alerts the hungry spider
Moving it signals its readiness to die
What is the sense? The aim?
What makes life a thing we desire?
When life is but ash after the fire
Scattered in the end
To each of the four winds
And none will know your name?
January 22, 1998 – Konrad Tademar