ONE SENTENCE SAYS IT ALL

And so I continue down my wayward path with the Coronavirus cloud hanging over me fat with dark drops of death, I take a few steps forward, a few steps back, most times staggering side to side, often times falling flat on my face, awakening, alone, covered in mud, but the sky takes pity (Or is it mocking me?) (Or is it God weeping over another failed experiment?) and it starts to rain and, slowly struggling to my feet, I stumble onward, but I ask myself if I've become disoriented and if I'm retracing my steps, unsure if I'm headed to where I began although I know enough about the absurdity and futility of my existence that there is no difference between the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning when blackness engulfs everything and there is no light, only the incomprehensible urge to keep moving because the Grim Reaper is waiting patiently to embrace me in his cold arms, warmth a pipe dream to keep me putting one foot in front of the other, the only option unless I want to die before my time, so the journey resumes with brief thoughts of salvation flitting through my mind that in the infinite emptiness there has to be one truth that is worth this blind travail but with the little intelligence with which I have been cursed I instinctively comprehend that I have been condemned to a sentence that I must serve and when my tracks disappear into the mire, billions (trillions?) will be following me just like I have followed billions (trillions?) in this confused trip through timelessness...