The Crowd Scares Me

You don't understand, do you? The crowd scares me. Not because of the weapons in their hands or the venom in their tongues. I'm scared because they will all die, and nobody worries about death; the approaching carriage from the darkness beyond.

Each of these men traversing in the marketplace of life with smiles on their chins and merry in their hearts will one day slide into the other side of life without knowing why they even existed on this side of life. No impact made; just men walking on the aisle of life awaiting the eye of death.

What then is the essence of man's existence when after living in this life, you leave this life without affecting a life amongst the many lives you met in your lifetime?

I'm scared of being like this crowd; I don't want to suck in the last breath on my dying bed, knowing that I never lived my life's breadth in the meter rule of purpose. I'm scared of being a mere echo in the canyon of time, a minor footnote in the annals of history.

But wait a second, who am I really? I'm not another worthless variable in the equation of existence. A crown of fulfillment must be hidden for me somewhere in the sacred temple of destiny. I will defy the whispers of mortality until I find that puzzle box of which I am the missing piece.

I need to make haste and find myself before the messenger of death finds me; I need to scribble a legacy on the sands of time, after which I can comfortably wade across the borderline of eternal slumber.

I'm out of here, and until I find myself, you won't find me anywhere close to this clueless and maddening crowd.