August Strindberg

Life, a fleeting shadow, a whisper in the wind,

We wander lost, adrift in the void,

Seeking solace in the darkness,

Yet finding only echoes of our own despair.

What is truth? What is meaning?

These questions haunt me, torment me,

As I tread the great highway of existence,

Alone, and yet surrounded by the clamor of life.

Oh, to find redemption in this wilderness,

To glimpse the light amidst the shadows,

But alas, it eludes me still,

A distant dream, a fading hope.

And so I wander on, a pilgrim of the soul,

Seeking answers in the silence,

Hoping against hope for a glimpse of truth,

In this vast expanse of nothingness.

Brendan Moir

Bemuse

Brendan Moir's Playwright Corner

The Great Highway: A Contemplation in Seven Scenes

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