'On the Suffering of the World'

Schopenhauer's a grand read, that I can't deny- his prose is not so prosaic, and though the more I read, the more I am conditioned into accepting that I am dying, forever losing sight or grasp of the present moment, his way of passing time is as good as any other; to remove oneself from the parade and just observe it a while, as if objectively, then to carry on with the march, until we reach the end of our own, subjective, promenade.
I've always felt that life was just a series of moments leading to our death. This is a rational view, I feel, but some may see it as a little despairing. But then, why despair over the inevitable? Better yet to find one's own way of living through it- coping- you might say, ignoring, might say others. Do what you will until the issue is resolved, patiently waiting, meditating, it's all just a way of dealing with time; or the end of time, until it happens and nothing can be done either way.
Given a long enough period of time, the chances of any 'thing' increases. What does this mean?

Schopenhauer tells me that life is worthless.

All this, I knew before.

All efforts in life are meagre

procrastinations

to whittle away our time

until we die.

And if we’re lucky-

smiled upon by chance-

we would have enjoyed just a few

instances in our life,

as a repose,

before the ceaseless struggle continues:

to work, to earn, to live…

… to die.

All happiness is eclipsed, in time.

All this, I knew before.

We try to make a name for ourselves

to reach closer to our limits.

What’s that we see in the distance?

Is it happiness? Is it fulfilment?

The question is, will you ever reach it,

and should you achieve it,

was it worth it?

Are you happy now?

Will you be satisfied tomorrow?

Tomorrow arrives, punctual as always

now what is contingent to your desires?

Do you not yearn for yesterday?

I seek only oblivion:

the pleasure of the fuck

and the following rest, where,

shutting my eyes,

I will blank out the world

taking a step back

from existence.

And the earth will yet spin

and all is all

as all is the same.

There is no worthy change in time.

All this, I knew before.