Like mother nature's strings,
Keeping us together.
Connected to all that is,
We are all but puppets.

Controlled by the flow of time.
Comforted by the cessation of crime.

Past and Future,
Two sources of ego.
Two strings that tie us,
To the mind-
Which is our goldmine.

But we have forgotten,
that it is a tool.
Now it is rotten,
From lack of us.

The tool has become our master.
Now our fate is to serve,
For we lack the courage to master,
The strength to fight all its whims and fancies.