Ode to the human condition during early winter

Pitter patter pitter patter
The sound of raindrops gently peppering the wooden roofs
Cold, so cold
Like angels' tears that froze.

Rain dots the bleak landscape,
The last, sparse patches of green,
Living their final days,
Yearning for light and glory,
But shrouded in grey,
Before the whiteness takes all.

Just a month ago,
The world was set ablaze,
In a riot of colours and hues.
A tribute to life,
An effort to be vibrant till the very end.

The bare branches stand silent now.
Sentient beings, going back to ancient sleep as powder falls from the heavens.
Sleep, sleep, sleep oh children of the great mother,
Sleep till it's time to live again.

But alas, we the race of thinkers,
Of ponderers, of philosophers,
Of narcissists who think we are better than life itself!
For us there is no sleep,
Only a wait, a long wait,
For the whiteness to fade and the colours to come back.

Ennui

So, what do you call someone with questionable dreams, no marketable skills and no ambition? what do you call a serial procrastinator who dreams of things that are impossible because the possible is  too difficult to achieve? What do you call a person who is so unsure of themselves that they are convinced that their whole life is a series of accidents- both serendipitous and devastating? How do you convince this person that they are worth something, that their presence has meaning, that their existence is not an accident? How to you convince this person that some activities are worth losing sleep for, some people are worth giving up unhealthy food for and some things are worth fighting for, dying for? How do you validate this person's life?


You don't!