by Anonymous Submariner
Follow me, I don’t know where I’m going.
Far from here, I travel not knowing,
My destination, I’m caught in the fray,
In one never-ending hellish day.
Existence is futile,
I live without fear.
Must be better than here.
Unaware of a purpose,
And ignorant of an answer.
I grow restless,
My hate spreads like a cancer.
What’s the meaning?
Why was I born into this dismal existence?
Why must I endure such abysmal conditions?
Is it a test?
Lest I fail, shall I die?
Die without knowing and always wondering why?
Why was I a participant in such an evil conception?
Forced to play in this drama amidst my every objection?
But who am I to say?
Were I to say it,
Who would hear?
Would my words fall without notice,
Upon a deaf and careless ear?
But, what if someone were to listen?
And my words not fall astray?
What then would I tell them?
What would my mouth allow me to say?
(Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean)