Is there an end?

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Is there an end? A life that is unknown?

There exists a jester, whose sole purpose;

Walking the lines o’ mockery at the circus.

His solitary life, of uncertainty, has grown.

Symbolism as it exists, came whence

Men of great wisdom denouncing fad.

In the eyes of our lovely comrade,

Darkening comes forth; soon to commence.

Truth be told; Death’s shotgun 

Is bound to end in man’s head.

Blistering and bold, the science untold

Of believing in an afterlife for fun.

“Thus,” says our jester, mouthful of bread,

“Our unfortunate reality shalt unfold.”

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