The ugly truth

I stared into the night sky and pondered life on earth.
Why are we here?
Who should we aim to please?
In the end i guess it doesn't matter, we are specks of dust, a tiny fraction of the galaxy.
Life passes in an instant, before we know it, its our time.

I wondered if all my memories had any meaning, any purpose.
Could i forget everything in my life and carry on?
Who knows.
All i know is that life isn't as precious as people make out.
People die everyday, and only a few people are effected.
If i were to die, the world would keep spinning.
There is no divine purpose, no ultimate goal, just Despair.

The ugly truth
is in my basement where the dust collects in
bunnies, skinned and draped over musty furniture.
I have sat on the buffalo skin with my grandfather
where his knife sunk under the calf's hide now
gathering cobwebs as it hangs with leather jackets.

I cough on skin cells I shed yesterday and on
cells decades ripened, from chickens now perfectly still,
hanging as bones from Indian charms.
Chickens whose heads were popped off
and who ran for a week across night, before they were eaten,
their bones saved and tied together like tourist's souvenirs;
and their baby chicks were none the wiser.

That's what I feel about the ugly truth; the strong eat the weak and we all can be the strong crushing the weak. How you react to this is what matters. Right now, you're not engaging me on a level I can appreciate except trying to shove despair in my face by enlarging the letters.

Go back to your first line and think about what you mean and can experience. Not what you believe.

I stared into the night sky and pondered life on earth.
Why are we here?
Who should we aim to please?
In the end i guess it doesn't matter, we are specks of dust, a tiny fraction of the galaxy.
Life passes in an instant, before we know it, its our time.

I wondered if all my memories had any meaning, any purpose.
Could i forget everything in my life and carry on?
Who knows.
All i know is that life isn't as precious as people make out.
People die everyday, and only a few people are effected.
If i were to die, the world would keep spinning.
There is no divine purpose, no ultimate goal, just Despair.

The problem I find with this poem is that if there is no meaning to this life, why would we understand what you are trying to convey. If you would die, maybe the world would continue spinning. But what if I somehow linked myself to the earth in such a way that the earth will implode if i die? Would my life then have meaning? There are always different perspectives to life, and people in the same worldview may not necessarily view things in exactly the same way. I know i sound weird, but, believe me, not everything “respectable” people throw at you can be believed. Question everything from every angle possible. As Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”...Here I begin to sound like a Richard Dawkins, But from a totally different point of view

Hello, I'm here to review. People might look at this poem and denounce it because it against what they believe in. I don't agree with the other reviewers, just because something says life has no meaning that doesn't mean that its not a good poem. anyway.

Firstly, there are some minor grammar issues, I would just give them a run over your poem again. I like your use to of fist person but you have slightly detached yourself the reader, I feel more like an on looker who is being asked questions. The questions are quite engaging, the fact that people rather vocally disagree with you shows that. The use of 'Despair; at the end was also quite

But on the other hand it is a little 'ranty', you are telling us your feelings rather than showing them, remember show not tell. There isn't much of a structure and its quite simple. Which isn't a bad thing but it seem to lack a little something that would make it great.