Peace,
Quiet,
Love,

these abstract things that guide
us through our lives,

We all want them in one way
or another,

A steady paycheck,
A backyard,
A soul mate,

those concrete things that justify
our suffering & strife,

We all want them in one way
or another,

We think

Maybe Love will carry us away,
Maybe it will answer our questions,
Maybe happiness is the root of Love

So we keep digging
and we find something different

Or maybe we keep digging
and we never stop

and fool ourselves into thinking
the fruit is the labor, and this is
"What we gotta do"

or we never find what we want

or we find what we need and say
"Whatever."

And then we **** all the happiness
we can from what's found
and we bury it deeper, leaving
what's left for someone else

Meanwhile, the world turns
full of war,
full of noise,
Alone because there's
nothing like it for
millions and millions
of miles

But that's not me,
That's not "Us",

Whatever.