The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation - Thoreau
Pastoral flocks in tranquil scenes
show simple love and life serene.
But fortune sings a siren song;
adventure leads a young man on.
Where now the boy who tended sheep?
Gone to the city bereft of sleep.
From azure skies with endless view
to smog-tinged walls and midnight rue.
Reddish pulses in late-night heat;
he lies awake 'neath sweat-damp sheet.
LED segments marching on,
marking time as he waits for dawn.
The tender shoots of hopeful spring,
now dry and bent, don't mean a thing.
Wrong turning points, poor choices made,
a playback loop of plans mislaid.
Soul-suck job and social striving,
endless climb without arriving.
Achieving goals instead of dreams,
a brittle smile hides silent screams.
The fear of want, and wanting more
can blind us to the narrow door.
God's love leads up, where Angels dwell,
but Hell's a place we send ourselves.
Author's note: ▼