Sad By Habit

 Sad By Habit (while I contemplated the addiction to sadness. It is like sadness at a lack of sadness— like we actually like it) 

And there it was in all its glory 

Shiny bits of ore hiding in the dirt 

The burlapped men set to work 

yet its molding left them empty 

The want of metal created desire 

Passion took its position— center field 

so that the flames weren’t for craft 

but for the exploit, for the triumph! so they thought 

Boys who wandered, wondered westward  

turned to men in sordid search of survival 

and once found formed dissatisfaction 

at the satisfaction of just survival  

For though they searched for that,

The minimum of existence which suffices 

I dare say for my own lowly self, 

It was the accomplishment that brought more sadness 

greed inherited from the old world, perhaps 

But though I content myself with survival

at times,

I too dream of loftier places— more happiness 

for like those frontiersmen I follow insatiable thirsts in my own way 

but do forget me— no adventurer am I! 

But they! They sat down and craved more than happiness. Rare pieces of earth.

A currency of happiness that represented far more than anything intrinsic— 

That was their way of eliminating the sadness of the minimum, man’s (a) fuel.  

What they didn’t see was the cycle. The feeling they ran on —the food of discontent— It being their internal drive to try to end it, which only repeats in the unrecognizable  

For after they found that rich, dark 

yellow-shine, they stumbled upon something unknowingly, becoming 

sad by habit.