This World

The suffering that is this world makes futures plain to see;

a world where we can be anything, as long as it’s not “free”.

A world designed to crush us beneath this constant weight

of fear and pain and punishment and never-ending hate.

Is this place really all there is to this world we call our own;

is this future all we get, or do we reap what we have sown?

I wish I knew the answers to the weight I feel each day

when in my heart I know that there must be another way.

A way that doesn’t just mean slow death of heart and mind

and at times I think I’ve glimpsed it; a future I can find.

But then somebody comes along and stakes my poor old heart

And I’m back where I started from; back to my feeble start.

Perhaps one day I’ll find its path; the future I desire

And on that day I’ll cast this fear back into Hades fire.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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