Is There A Point? Poem by Thistle Wargul

A deceitful cuckoo,
A parasite on the faithful parents
Of the chick it just killed.

A little runt,
Not as fast as it's fellows;
Squashed by it's fat mother
Rolling over.
Squeals for help ignored.

The sunsets made beautiful
By a destructive volcano.
The force that killed thousands,
Injured hundreds,
Yet life thrives on the remains.

A red-breasted robin,
Chirping and dancing on the fence.
A sparkling eyed sparrow-hawk.
The robin is no more!

All this pain,
All the unfairness,
All the death in the world.

We suffer,
Some like it.
We live through it,
Some find it too much to bear.

We still have the will to live.
Fight to defy the pain,
The crimson blood in our veins
Boils and denies death.

It makes you really wonder.
Is life really that bad?
So beautiful yet so dangerous.
We hate the pain.
Want a purpose.
Yet still remain.

Is it really as bad as we think?