30. Sense of Life

Suite of words
Without aim
No direction, no sense
Only the space
Emptiness of words
Emptiness of substance
What the point of all this ?
All is illusion
And nothing has meaning
Definitively not God
Some days
My soul tormented
I would like to rise the world
To relieve myself from turmoil
Hamlet, my soft Prince
I understand
And me too I wonder
If we have or not to be.

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