A Poem

When did the days become nights,
when did I start having jetlag,
without the flying, floating.
The nights have melded into the days,
when you have to get up before the sun,
when the moon shines at you before all else.

When your brother looks at you with such disdain,
when he is torn from his special second,
his two, and made to study, books that fill his mind,
with usefulness, and enterprise, and erudition,
No, he would rather a good video game, a gallivant around virtuality.

Reality is too difficult to comprehend,
better to escape into your twenty first century delusion,
spend like there's no tomorrow,
save nothing,
selfishness, emptyness, materia, mana,
I'm almost too tired to care.

Let us find the source of all.
And maybe we can find ourselves.