Futility v 3

Insanity, or lack of sanity, is defined as the repetition of action but expecting a different outcome. With this in mind we observe that our society lacks the control and serenity it preaches. As we are born in the world, we are slowly being absorbed into the machinations that our predecessors laid unwittingly for us. And so, as we stumble in the dark slowly making sense of our surroundings, we realise the pointlessness of our existence. We are born from the dark and slowly we return to it. That is when we hope... when we dream.
       A man's only freedom is inside his own reality. The roles we all play, in our desperate struggle to fill the void within us, the never ending need that comes with our existence, the reason why our desires are never truly fulfilled, the objectives that are never completed, the silent whisper that keeps us on stage; they all are the creations that the universe has constructed for itself only to marvel at the show called life. The actors always new, the roles primordial: the fool, the king, the hero, the betrayer. We have each played them at least once, but we remain with the one that suits us best.
       And sometimes... most times... we hope. A bitter-sweet illusion that drives our pathetic existence ever forward until we reach the point when our desires become the only thing that lights up the darkness, if only for a moment. Slowly but surely the light fades, and we come into the company of hope's last son - struggle. The cruel joke life never gets tired of: to see men crawl for their objectives inch by inch, their prize taunting them in the distance.
       It is our curse, for coveting something well beyond our reach. We struggle to reach a peak hidden in the clouds and for what it's worth, some actually reach it, but don't realize it because they themselves are surrounded by clouds. And only when they come down from the mountaintop do they realize how high up they actually were.
       And in that lies the futility of our short lived existence. For seasons beyond counting, we have thought that we control our own decisions, when in reality we have never made one in our lives. We are merely the product of chance and yet we pride ourselves with identity and individuality when we all end up the same. Ignorance is truly bliss, so we should be happy for the ones that don't see the machinations of the world, the ones that play their roles without even knowing.
       One day, maybe passed, or in the future, a man shall stop acting, and see the stage he has played on for so long. Then he shall leave the stage and take his place in the audience. Now I ask you, can that being still be considered human?