This silly world of ups and downs,
grasping for earth and clouds
in disproportionate measure;
fiening for frivolous work and
intensified pleasures.
Where is the weight of existence
when hearts are heavier than
the feathery disposition of mind-kind?
Man is but thought and flesh,
losing soul in the center,
casting out his Inventor for the
adulteration of both.
Full scope narrows as the
cascading of false joys smother;
tethering one lie to another, and so
we suffocate in the smokescreen
that holds our baited breath.
Drawing in deeply upon the
staleness of – this is all –
and there life falls into the void.
Who is left annoyed by this
emptiness of being, this
looking without seeing, this
thinking without knowing, this
taking without needing, this
acting without feeling?
Treachery is breeding, while
balance flees its cause, leaving
today’s teeter in the shadow
of tomorrow’s cost.

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