Way of the World...

Sitting on a bench,

In a crowded train,

And watching the world flash by,

A foggy fear,

Through frosted glass,

Keeps us high and dry.

New days dawn,

Not with joy and zest,

But a list of things to do,

Every waking hour,

Isn’t a moment of joy,

But a schedule in bright red hue.

Preformed paths,

We are meant to take,

Careers we do not create,

For a good life,

Seeing us clothed and fed,

We shut our desire’s gate.

It’s not life we lead,

We barely exist,

On a cowardly material earth.

But to break the chains,

And make amends,

Needs faith in the thought of rebirth.

We’re all scared,

When all’s said and done,

To mess up our only lives.

We know we’re afraid,

But can’t fight our fears

While facing a world of knives.

Hypocrite I am,

To write these things,

When at heart I’m just the same,

But my life at least,

Has been long forfeit

For I fail to play this game.