The cast of life we take as 'everyday',
is illusive; collectively a trance.
There is a savvier, more fruitful way
to foster love and widen meaning's sweep,
but most will never know, nor have the chance,
by virtue of their waking walking sleep.
Self satisfied, has got to be the worst
state of one's mind, to try and plot the right
direction home. When one first knows the thirst
for higher ordered truths that transcend time,
he comes to see that filth obscures his sight,
and changes must be made to scrub this grime.
A man who has no hunger can't be fed.
Pride-minded men can neither flex nor make
fresh pictures of themselves. A rigid head
no matter rich or fair, is ripe to waste
its slender chance to rise, and then partake
of wonderous new fruits, to touch and taste.