The hindrance of one’s natural affairs
Sparks the inevitability of heartache.
And any effort to suspend this kind of misery
Is a downward spiral of emotional wake.
Where success is marked by capital accumulation,
We all must take the same shallow path.
Some are cast off by means of minor discrepancies
And few emerge victoriously from the aftermath.
To shed the rotting integument
That suffocates and shrivels all empathy
Is the option that best disposes the rest
Of the poisonous orthodoxies here presently.
We fit our grand title no longer
As our one existential question dissolves
Among the mayhem and mischief we cause
To earn a buck rather than evolve.