A poem on the mental state:

 

I find the outlook simple

All that I can see

 

Exists for me to see,

It is not clear how it came to be,

But we are indeed trained to see.

 

People wander and talk

Few talk of wonder

 

Many are miserable,

Or even horrible,

Living lives that are terrible. 

 

People share everything in common

But the mind they speak with

 

And the self they teach with,

Questioning many others, ardently

The definitive answer for right or wrong. 

 

We become a land of the thing

A vile obstruction toward nothing

 

Except the presentiment of our desires,

A vicious cycle of future predicament,

Taut like animals strumming a hopeless chord

 

We too hope victory to be our only accord. 

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