Futility Poem by James Walter Orr
Futility
How futile is a breath of air;
How weakly falls the spoken word.
Though in our mind they scream and blare,
One never knows if they be heard,
And could be prone to know despair,
From being one with all the herd.
We sit and stare, scarcely aware,
Of how the world is so absurd,
With few to know and none to care,
If what we thought was what occurred.
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4/30/2024 1:17:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
