On The Wine of Human Suffering

Born ye to a world of foes
Unvanquishable by pain and woe;
They thrive on such emotions as we have,
And hate, and hate only what they lack.

Yes, they lack and find in themselves
Nothing but an empty void, a nothing that
In itself is but a fist snapped against a rock,
It is to them a loosing battle, life.

Lose of innocence occurs at birth,
Perhaps before; as we in our cushioned homes
Grin with mirth and hope again to have another,
So that we might devirginize his brother.

What, speaketh I, of such disorganized
Life spiraling to meaning, missing the mark
Because of bad aim, laughing and...
I speak this to Richard alone: the rest, depart.

Crying at pain and sorrow, lonely devices
Helping to reach tomorrow, bouncing and dying thus:
Speaketh I of work and such, know thou not
That life is futile, the end is near, and you are servile?

"Can I get some OJ?", the biggest question of the day;
Perhaps because the boss is watching, perhaps because
The girl is cute, alone and only working in her way,
My God man, we're going down!

Cries the Captain, God and Buddha,
The last they see is earth, crashing towards
The window of their lives; these men,
From whom inspiration derives.

From whence did such angst derive,
What evil chemical within the mind does perpetuate
This hatred; not irate, but searing anger?
From neutered angels, envious to thrive

On the wine of human suffering?