We have everything;
power, pelf,
passion
and zing.
Then why
this emptiness,
dread,
a black hole of ennui?
We build fences,
but
hungry eyes
seep into our beings.
We try not to think,
but
dying children
haunt our dreams.
This is not our want,
our war.
Then why this agony?
Could it be that we are all connected?
