Life and Something Else.

Space is an ilussion of what the mind desires

the more we get the less we understand, 

but is there such thing as a fulfilled life?

So much to learn and put in our brains

yet so limited is our time and effort

what we might start someone else will have to end  

Anyhow we seem not to care 

we go by everyday living a story with an invitable conclusion 

But every story has an author,

and it can not be ourselves. 

Cycles repeat themselves but we continue.

Our bodies may vanish one day but we will keep walking.

Our ideas may become obsolete but we will keep talking. 

Our voices may become silent but we will keep lisetning.

We may be gone but we surely were never more active.