We name it life, unknown of what it is.
Within it, we exert some thousand wills
responsible for dullness, ecstasy, and craft.
Random ends in ignorance produced
by those whose only mission is decay.
We’re not, and then we are, and then we’re not.
Brief wearers of this chain of straw,
we owe no one. There’s nobody to owe.
When faced with choices, we can do or not;
for ultimately nothing parts the two.
We can manufacture ties of loyalty,
but these exist alone to test or break.
Unpalatable it is, perhaps,
but no opinion counts that’s worth the name.
This is the blood and bone of us.
Some it scares; others liberates.
– David Dumouriez