I have been working on a poetic interpretation of Ecclesiastes and wanted to share.
Nothing has meaning.
Everything is pointless,
like an inane transient cloud.
A single breath of smoke.
Think of all the tears and sweat
that you pour into your work.
What do you actually gain
from everything that you do?
Generations flourish and then fade
and are replaced by others that pass,
leaving no sign they were ever there,
only the dirt where they once walked.
The sun rises every dawn
and then sets with every dusk
repeating the monotonous cycle
with the same numbing predictability.
The wind blows to the south
but then changes and rushes north,
mindlessly blowing one way then another,
constant in it's confused and erratic mission.
Every drop of water ends in the ocean
but the seas is never satisfied and so
the rivers and streams keep flowing
tediously replenishing over and over again.
Every single aspect of life inspires apathy
and is filled with indescribable monotony.
Each dull thing bores the eyes blind
and deafens ears with mundane noise.
All that has once been will be again.
Every occurrence that takes place
is just an imitation of another.
Nothing is original or new in this world.
Someone might claim or insist
they have something new to offer,
but you can be sure that all it will be
is a rehashed and repackaged cliché.
All than man achieves will fade away
and the supposedly great things
that will be accomplished in the future,
will also pass into nothingness.