The possibility

That seeking could be a lost cause

Looming around me

That searching for the meaning of life

May be making me sick

The war isn't over, it continues in waves

The peaks and valleys get higher and lower

I stretch strong, grasping at leaves on a fallen tree

I am winding down an old dirt road in the hopes of finding a grassy knoll to kneel and shed tears for the Lord's sacrifice

I cannot keep doing this, I am worn too thin now in my fattened labor

Like a calf giving milk to it's mother

I am tired, weary, overgrown and unmended like a shard of cooked meat

There are labels you can smoke out of me, and yet I dry all the same, rubbed from the light

There is creation and murder of the ego

There is... nothing

It is all just labels

I groan in this misfortune

Like a holocaust.

Of my soul.