La Vanité de La Vie (The Vanity of Life)

A perspective on Vanity.

Toil after toil again, man finds himself in a spiral of decisions; To which no display can ordain it’s self properly. The amount put in is of not the same received, although one can feel such emotion, it is truly false. Properties change from one form to the other but it’s sustained presence remains active. What such force can propel a person to continue with such rudimentary tasks, redundancy; other than Vanity herself?

          Vanity, True to her form, has compelled man millennia after millennia; Time after Time. For what was, is, or is to become of time? Is it not fault of Vanity; Or perhaps, above her? In Digression, man can only believe what he has seen, and that in its self is Vanity.

          A Sun-toiled meadow, were the grass flows like waves on the ocean, seems innocent in its essence, but with a more profound look, one would see even there, faults, to no extent further than their own. Vanity isn’t a fruit of life, but rather a seed of ideal, planted in the minds all. It truly is unforgettable once recognized. 

 

          A Shady lady, Vanity is, Green-eyed mysterious; Bringing as much light as shade to discussion. A ghost of to which She lingers. No such league compares. Mere joy is cheap, like sugar dissolved in seconds, but Vanity, lingering.

 

Vanities of Vanities

 Pardon no one from the fire

Her ever glazing truth

Is the vilest satire

Author's Note

Honest and insightful feedback would be appreciated.