And want has plagued the trepid mind,
Of gathering accolades in search of purpose.
With the spoils of greed comes means sublime
To search for what to find.
But what you have is not as kind
As it looked like when you wanted it.
Achieve and gain a hollow prize
You swore would hold more in person.
And so the find is not the central part,
Or the means of satiating want at all.
Your tumbling through time and space
Is guided by your view of self.
So desperate to look on out
And horde all that may make you great.
But ill-equipped are ill of mind
To hold solace in your traits.
The human that has come about
From all you stumbled in on,
Holds merit that you refuse to take
Or fairly take some pride from.