In yonder realm where clamor blends with deep reflection true,
God's hand hath fashioned balance rare, amid tasks and pains that brew.
When man, unshackled, roams the fields of thought neglected erst,
'Tis eerie to perceive his freedom from desires accursed.

To lack desire akin to holding all within one's hand,
Yet fleeting is the novelty in this wondrous land.
A war doth rage betwixt my mind and bloodline's primal urge,
As I strive to fuse my wit with nature's ancient surge.

The cravings of this mortal frame, I find them naught but vain,
The primal thirst for mating and for accolades to gain.
In modern days, productivity doth reign supreme,
Yet I yearn for a detachment from society's harsh gleam.

Psychic and spiritual realms, they oft diverge from need,
Evolution's designs, they clash with intellect's creed.
Once vital for survival's sake, these instincts now seem drear,
To thinkers of a higher plane, their essence fails to cheer