The breaking of things,
for growth, and progress,
we strive nonetheless.
What was once old,
remade to the new.
What was once treasured,
now merely a tool.
A hintings of a time that once came to be,
A sign of a future that was once yet to be.
Time passes fast.
Things are not the same.
What was state of the art,
now merely maintained.
All things are like this,
thought to give us amidst,
a splattering of pain,
a dash of suffering,
a combination of stress and disharmony.
A certain happiness,
a joy that won't be missed.
A goal that is worthy,
of all the pains that we once dissed.
We slowly grow,
chasing after things.
Yet then we realize,
said things are now slow.
Everything that's made, will be like so.
Nothing is free, nor can be maintained when old,
for our happiness and joy, that which we sow.
All things break down, even I myself too.
What was once good, may become taboo.
To maintain we strive. to be happy we work.
Not knowing when this will be our last word.
Where we see that all things that have come to be,
just like our happiness, will cease to be.
So abandon this maintenance,
of this facade and countenance,
and live a life of honesty,
of complete abundance.