The human condition

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

The Human Condition.


It’s a funny old life for the most part, you never quite know if you’ve scored

Your best is a very good second and the world always tells you it’s bored,

At one end its wisdom and beauty at the other detritus and dross

There are some who care about others but many that don’t give a toss


You spend all your life on its treadmill, working, awaiting the call

But why is it always so painful and why are the wages so small,

Your motives are usually artless, but no one accepts what you say

They think that you’re putting one over and ego just gets in the way


We know it’s a battle for notice you’re craving for love and that stuff

But how come the others all get it and you didn’t quite get enough,

Rough with the smooth they once taught you, stiff upper lip keep in mind

Some people make light of the challenge, but you always find it a grind


You can only be certain of two things, death and the Revenue’s gaze

Its no use making a fortune cause the taxman will get you both ways,

But don’t feel your anything special, think quietly on about this.

When our Maker put humans together, do you think he was taking the piss? 

Submitted: July 01, 2016

© Copyright 2023 Peter Piper. All rights reserved.

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