Living beings are predicated upon one thing,
And one thing only,
And that is that we’ll one day die.
.
The mind is incapable of thinking of itself.
.
In such a way,
The ballooning of focus
Meets malady behind every rampart,
If only
.
As a beaming
Of trouble, someone singing
Cries of pain, cries you’ve never heard,
.
Making
Your present situation
An ungainly, muddled basket,
Synchronized into painless oblivion when you realize,
Friend,
It’s a friendly one.