10am

In a topsy turvy world
Where every man is for himself
At the expense of
Becoming foe to friends
Justified by the ends
Of personal happiness –
Each hand and head becomes a rung
On the ladder to success
Whatever that may be.
In a world where every man is for himself,
Every man destroys himself
And those beside him.

Friends, most precious,
Until
We see that which we prize
And believe will be our completion,
Though we mourn that our clawing at happiness hurts our friends
We brush it aside
Justified,
The means by the ends.

When will we learn to be human again?
To just live and forget the myth of success
To know that in love,
That most difficult task,
Is our happiness?
Our happiness.
Not mine.
Not yours.
Ours.