From ourselves
we can't escape
desires and unrests lurk within us
they fester--each has its own theme and shape-

what
a great burden
it is
to be human

the self is imprisoned
and freedom loses its wings
thoughts multiply by the minute
life is just things after things

mostly senseless and inane
as though to ennui we are born
behind many a smile is repressed sadness
life is full of so many a thorn

that callously ****** the flesh
how painful is the cry
of self---how burdensome
are we unto ourselves--we live with sigh after sigh.