Why is there a need to sweeten,
When you have to suffer when bitten?
You see the world as it is,
But still want to feel amiss?
The very want of the mass,
To kill death and live crass.
The sights on mounts,
In the wake of jaunts -
A collection of errors that incite
Man to chase an imaginary light.
We wear those plastic masks
To hold our faults in casks.
We never exult when we can,
We kill our mind, and refuse to tan.
The man who started off
To reach, but dies at scoff.
He never learnt that his imperfections
Were as obvious as his infections,
To cough at the onset of cold,
And to bow whenever told.
The scenes around than you can see
Are part of the illusion that is reality.
For as long as you like, you can try;
But don’t be convinced that you can taste reality.
