Destroyer of Worlds

What a dreadful, little life I've had.  I don't understand it.  What has been the point of this awful, little life of mine?  Not that it has to have a point.  Everything doesn't have to be imbued with significance.  But it is, isn't it?  Isn't everything significant of something?  Isn't that what makes life interesting?

A dreadful life in a dreadful, little world.  That is me.  That is my life.  That's the world I live in.  What do I want?  What do I want from life?  What do I want from the world?  What am I doing here?  This certainly isn't the first time that I've asked these questions.  It may not be the last, though the time left for asking questions is running low.  My life is running low.  My country is running low.  The world is running low.  There may not be much time left for any of us, even for the ones who think they have the answers.  They don't, you know.  They don't have any answers.  They are trouble makers, not problem solvers.  They are destroyers of worlds, not dispensers of justice.  They are the angry mob, not wise rulers.  And, we will all go down together.  We will destroy ourselves with a stunning lack of vision and a mean, little snit.  We will destroy the world with our resentment, because we were not bright enough to save it.