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Rated: E · Poetry · Drama · #2209600
I prototyped it at work. I'm not a poet, I just played DDLC. (Look it up, boomer.)
What is the meaning of life?

A done to death topic,
or an intellectual fallacy?
Whatever the case,
we've all asked this question.

But with every question,
the answer recedes from view.
A new perspective,
another set of hands,
all add to the discovery of further questions
and only rarely,
answer the old ones.

And yet, we still try.
We try and work and try some more.
Because somewhere, somehow,
the answer lurks.
We know it, someone knows it
The question has already been answered.

Someone, somewhere, long ago
answered it.
And he alone made the final decision;
Share his discovery, and let his people stagnate,
or, continue to breed ignorance, so that we
continue to mean something.

And he decided on that fateful day
to allow us to ask questions.
For he knew that the meaning of life;
Was to ask.
Not to know.
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