The Consolation

We hold our heads in pain and despair.
Our eyes hold a moisture they cannot bear.
A sickness fills our soft insides.
The deaf man hears not his cries.

Ignoring the world, we toil away,
Yet seek the sun, to make our hay,
Cursing the rains, that water our fields,
And kissing that which had, our parched throats, healed.

Heroism and success is a fight well fought.
A fallacy we teach, and were taught.
Happiness is in not fighting at all.
Read the writing on the wall.

Dejection and gloom lurk in every shadow,
Filling our being from mind to marrow.
Life is nothing. It's obvious.
But here are words to gladden us.

Happier times are sure to come,
For one day, we shall all succumb,
To a sliver of a moment, when we realise,
That life is but, a simple surmise.

That we never knew the reason why,
A human ought to stay alive.
That Desire, "You must live", decreed.
While in fact there never was a need.

And so our morbid, diseased minds,
By diseased thoughts, the disease it finds,
Is life itself, and nothing more,
And nothing less, and nothing more.

When we let go, we shall smile,
For bliss will be here in a while.
And death will cleanse our bodies, whole,
Of our putrid, rotten souls.