the good life

is said to be do as you want, do what you want whenever you want. but biology has a way of penalizing, bringing sentences no judges do. ouch, a pain, a brain fog or a slow anguish - till a person starts to bargain on gluttony when the feast beckons, maybe not today. then a fatigue, how wearisome it all is, this living off the land and consequences still hang: lay down, rest, sleep the body aches all over from a flat posture, the weariness seems to sink deeper as sloth whispers how nice it is to forget burdens. burdens left alone, they fester, grow, gnaw at the mind till responsibility makes back a claim, it is needed though the heart rebels against having to grind away, wrath speaks like thunder, the same old circles, the same disputes, the same logic, the same is boring, banal, feels like bondage and a god winks "you're not one of us." then envy slides into the temple, of better days, harvest made and a boss who reaps the labor. a boss who does as he pleases, sees no ill consequences, gets away with a steal! or so it seems, for he is a man used to giving orders, not taking them and his coffers is laden with sweat and blood turned to diamond, not his sweat and blood. it's not fair! and yet no changes are made, the same circles only get etched deeper into boring earth and greed sank in, be the boss, be the owner, who shrugs off work because he can. the fields become alive with shadows watching as one eats of the forbidden fruit: knowledge carnal, a tainted pleasure that compounds on another plain unseen, unheard, denied repeatedly. it must not exist if man says so, a flaw that cuts not flesh, and the soul is a logical framework easily repackaged. let's tie it with a christmasy look and a cute ribbon just for fun. ah, looks better now. the mind goes quiet, the ache is there though denied, it compounds calculative like - pennies, quarters, the soul is numb, dead and it feels like pleasure, a sweet intoxicating type ... ... you never want to wake up for lust is strongest when a spirit is dormant, the wonders of the world! each excursion becomes a gurgle of delight, or rapture, surely this is heaven, must be the right way, must be justice and justice becomes a transaction because the mind made it so. the spirit tries to jolt awake, disturbed from sweet pleasure, a blanket of pride erases all chances of waking up. it's religion, all the mess comes from religion but i know better! says pride and the words unsaid were left with the spirit to gnaw, to worry, to become infected then nothing. no god, no vices, no damnation - because i said so, sounds about right till the cracks appear. compounded cracks yawn like hell's mouth and hell and heaven never vanished because man said so.