Futility of Life

Looking in the mirror I feel my insides churn
My mistakes are something from which I can never seem to learn
For this alone, I know eventually I will burn
But my own fate is something that causes me little to no concern
Because why should I be concerned with my own insignificant fate?
When there is no higher power to arbitrate
My life will not be something for the weak to arrogate
But am I truly enlightened or is it a facade I create?
Is it an honest world view is arrogance my true trait?
And is my mind something I can just decide to liberate?
I ask these questions, the answers to which I may never know
But at least I am making progress, no matter how slow