Beasts are we, who think and dream,
Reason, plot, plan and scheme.
Goals man-made pursued with zeal,
Coveting what isn’t real.
Fleeting, phantom, blissful state
Striving, reaching, at what rate?
Midnight mania, nothing won,
Life’s work is never done.
Recall those joyous, early days
Enthralled, lost, in wondrous ways.
Victor’s spoils become reviled
Letting go the inside child.
Engaging in life’s war,
Becoming Mammon’s whore,
Smirking at obedient chattel
Wrestling through each day, each battle.
Meek shall rise when mighty fall,
The shepherd spoke, as we recall.
Last is first and first is last,
Strife and loss are put to past
So child is king and serfs are we,
Who search and seek, yet never see.