The want for so much is a well travelled road
With known variables, born of the colourless
Worlds whereof once hale dreams go to die,
Leading to the same ends, sharp and brittle
Without hope of surcease or soothing touches.
Dark and empty yawn the chasms of want,
Desire and caprice driving all motions, actions
Formed amidst the cradles of fabricated need,
The lies of senses, perception twisted to evil
Purposes where shrivel all routes of recourse.