The Human Condition
The air is being sucked out of my lungs
My head is bombarded by a thousand shards of
glass
There is no refuge to rest my weary bones
The angst of my supposedly beloved is fuelling my
anxiety
In my mind my only rest exist underneath the
ground
I have become Hamlet in this tragic tale
Goodness is just an illusion, a hallmark apparition
Selflessness is really selfishness; people own wants
and needs are paramount in their hearts
Right gives way to base desire, a veracious
appetite forever lusting for more
Hope is like a distant star visible but impossible to
reach
has our morality has been reduced to resemble a
virus, devouring everything in its path
Is this condition the permanent face of humanity?
Copyright © Silafit Silafit | Year Posted 2011
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