If by hand, the world is made, each plot of land for trade. Every man, practicing trade, grueling labor; hand over anvil, to progress us further. Taking care of future youth, with grit and bone, shattered lives, spent toiling for them. For a wage, that only supports a temporary home, in which they never dwell. Owning nothing, and borrowing everything. Always temporary, as they toil for scraps, to build the empire for those who suck the soul of those below.
If only, better, if only more. If only not like me, if only not of same rotten worthless core. Dreaming of a life, for the future ahead, better than the pain you’ve endured. Yet, as if some worthless cur, you rant and throw a fit for more. For better, safer, sure…
The misery of being in a loop of malcontent, flowing freely in disbelief. That there was no man, nor woman, who should, would or could bare, the pains of life in which they were ensnared.
The indoctrinated toil freely, as the fools flounder greedily, in pursuit of red or blue, thinking boldly, any care for you. Begging for the next crumb, showing how much they believe their worth, pushing harder and harder for masters who do not care. Giving them far less than their fair share…
The only solution, is dissociation; of oneself and reality. To let go and let be, to understand life is as it will be, whether rich, poor or in between. Everything comes down to opportunity, luck in life of being where the moment out or up will be, no different than reels on a machine you see? From birth, to death, lazy or hardworking, intelligent, or ignorant. A roll of the dice is our reality…
submitted by /u/GergBlunder
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