Writers will always write

And readers always read

Old books shelved

As new ones are made

Because we humans

Forever seek

To find some meaning

To life

We forever seek reasons

To face yet another day


We are cursed

Or blessed

With that never ending thirst

To search for answers

To questions life gives


When we miss these reasons

When we stop wondering

Seeking to see

What’s in store for us


We die


We die

Not the common physical deaths

That put us six feet under

We die slow deaths


The ones that happen

Day after day after day

Of not seeking anything

In life


Like a flower

That stops bending

Towards the sun

That sits in the dark

Till it wilts away


It’s in our very nature

To want to know things

To forever search

For answers and meaning

We might never find


Humans are born to seek
When we stop searching
We die

Made of Sand
Not Dura, but Alaminadura

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