Confounded by the prideful scam
sometimes I wonder if I am
and then the days of cold disdain
where I really just don’t give a damn,
and on those days I can’t abstain
from voicing (though I vent in vain)
this emptiness inside of me—
a growing void I can’t explain.
Is substance only what we see
or is there more we need to be?
Such heady thoughts are well above
this vessel of simplicity
that seeks an olive bearing dove
to grant the peace they whisper of
so I can finally come to terms
with this world I long to love.