The Human Condition

poem that questions human nature and their ability/inability to be satisfied

What a human condition it is

to constantly be satisfying oneself,

but never being satisifed

Are we that empty?

that we would percieve the next best thing as ugly

Would you drink yourself into oblivion

just so that you could feel again?

Are we so empty that nothing or anyone 

could fill our chalace?

Are we full of love or are we full of malace?

Never being satisfied 

a human condition I'll never understand

Until I've percieved the greatest thing I'll ever see

as bland

So I'll continue to fill my chalace 

Until I've drowned in it

After all the human condition is

not very sound, is it?