Stuff

Stuff

Begetting all that’s gotten
Why’s it got to feel so rotten?
Is this merely a game to play
Chance to take all one may?
 
For all there is, there’s more
Objects of myth galore
Thorough, near infinite pleasure
If all one can do is measure
 
Why the great lust for things?
The grace it brings?
All becoming more, yet less
A treasure losing treasure chest
 
Perhaps I’ll sell myself
And buy another