I find that the goal
of all my writings
are a hope of some kind of ending

I hate to finish a book
at least one I read for pleasure

I have no considered writing a joy for its own continuation.

Because I pursue the resolution. The reason for all this striving.

Now I am not so sure that I have grasped the fullness of it at all.

Because the end of life is a sure fact

Should I not have my reason in every circumsance?

Or is that just my ego...