A populace of mortals

Grown blasé to

The once quizzical nature of survival

Begin to crave substance in living

Complex and subjective

Humankind still seeks a definitive solution

Arid become lifetimes spent on a fool’s errand

To quench the thirst

To cease contemplation

A sham!

A rancid conclusion!

 Accepted with a wince of foreseeable regret

By the forlorn eyes of our minds

The human’s purpose

Seek out pleasure

Hush both covert and disclosed desires

An identity crisis pends while

Prestige and Self-interest teeter so high

On the shrine of initiatives

...

They might fall off