Far too often are we shown,
that smiles are fleeting
and are prone,
to reveries of aching melancholy,
joy diminished then postponed.
Needling ego pokes its holes,
through ignorant bliss
that once was known.
By end of day has vanquished you,
now you languish
as it usurps your throne.
Impeached from your seat of power,
your better angels overthrown,
obsessed with the material world,
with all things flesh and bone.
"Happiness will be mine one day!"
we mumble, moan and groan.
"Perhaps when I've retired,
when I've paid off all my loans.
When my years at last are golden,
My outlook will be brighter then,
than ever it has shone!"
Perhaps on that day Sisyphus,
will gather moss
instead of roll the stone.
One day in the future,
when children have all grown.
When finally they mature,
and end their love affair with phones.
When blustering winds of change,
and all the minds they've blown,
rest upon...