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.