The Struggles Of The Fly



What is the point?  The purpose?

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

1 Comment
  1. Eileen Browne says

    Your words – my thoughts

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