The businessman looks at dirt,
And cries: “OH, WHAT A SHAME!
HERE LIES LAND UNDEVELOPED,
YIELDING NO PROFIT; NOR GAIN”
Yet I look upon that very soil,
And see land developed by motion,
And formation of the elements,
Which in liquid form are the ocean.
Nature in constant transformation,
Cares not about profit; nor loss,
We may think we are in control,
But the elements are our boss.
Race against Nature if you will,
There’s no rule that says you can’t.
But the life wasted in search of gain,
Speaks volumes of an empty rant.
Our one life in this human form,
Is a tenure relatively brief.
And when our elements choose to disperse,
No more sensation will be our relief.
So we can comply with Nature,
And seek comfort as the ultimate end.
We can be satisfied with sustenance,
And enjoy the company of friends.
Or we can obsess over money,
Or live in fear of eternal damnation.
We can live in anxiety and fear,
Or; we can be assured without reservation:
That the natural end of life is pleasure,
By way of comfort and peace of mind.
We can live happy and content,
Knowing that we will expire in time.