The world is purely relative
And we are naught but fools
To think ourselves contemplative
As if we knew the rules.
The things we do each day, and next,
Remain with us forever
And hate concealed in subtle text
Portrays us not as clever.
And when we’re done, and looking down
On all we have partaken
The question we must ask ourselves
Is will we be forsaken?
What actions, deeds, and words put forth
By me have truly mattered?
I hope to say mine all will prove
My soul was left untattered.
