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And so the baby was born.

Asking from the world everything he needed.

And the world provides it,

   a breast to suck, a bosom to rest, a kiss to sleep.

That baby is dead now.

He has no epitaph

After all, he owed the world something.

And so the young child was born.

Copying his parents, to they he has heeded.

And the world approves it,

   a new world to learn, a division table to solve, a friend to sleep.

That young child is dead now.

He has no epitaph.

After all, he had to grow up.

And so the juvenile was born.

Searching the world with the curiosity he has been granted.

And the world challenges it,

   a revelation to be told, a taboo to be known, a past mistake to be recognized.

That juvenile is dead now.

He has no epitaph.

After all, he had learnt too much.

And so the young adult was born.

Still learning, still searching, and also, now grasping for a certainty guaranteed.

And the world challenges it,

   a new problem to be noticed, a new anxiety to be suffered, a new responsibility to undertake.

That young adult will die soon.

He now has an epitaph.

After all, he is the first to realize his morbid state.

A tall figure looms in the horizon.
Written while listening to "Epitaph" by King Crimson.

It just works.
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Submitted on
May 17, 2016