The greatest irony of life

Is that a meaningless universe produced a creature desperate for meaning

It is a profound absurdity

So we carve up a mote of dust

We mask our shared humanity and dance in masquerade on a floor of bones and blood

We dance on our own dreams and convince ourselves it was justified

And when we stumble some may help us up but we still have blood on our hands

Behind the mask we feel pure

There is love in this world and none of us deserve it