What if?

There's this question deep down,

What if we're just puppets and the clown

Of the One who twists the game,

Etched forever in his lists of names.

What if it's all just a lie?

Some beyond 100, some soon die.

Every possession, every frame

out of soul, seems so lame

As if they were never here

Their voice seems to fade,

So are the touch and care.

If this is the reality,

why are we even made?

There's a void,

The mind unable to accept.

The warmth of affection,

Now turned into the frost of yearnings

Of the things and people who will never come back.