Flux

Everyday another novel is written

From the womb a tragedy is born

Each of our lives

A piece of existential angst

Tossed salad mix of happy and sad

(Some of us get Caesar)
(Some of us get Chef)

But we all end up the same way

Forgotten dust

In a forgotten space

Homo sapien – cum – self-deification

Will do no good now

When everything is fluctuating away.