Every man searches for peace and prosperity;
Not always consciously;
sometimes in vain.
Sometimes it's simple,
Like silent contentment,
The sweet fragrant air that
billows the Earth
And follows the trail of a
gentle Spring rain.
Often as not, it is more
complicated
Trying to fathom the meaning
of life,
Searching out goals that will
somewhat relate
To the patchwork pattern
Pieced together from scraps
of a cloth cut
With a dull-edged knife.
Seeking perfection in an
imperfect World
Can lead only to madness,
heartache and grief.
Pieces of peace...
The best we can hope for.
Take our contentment in
snippets of joy
'Til the darkness of night
arrives like a thief.
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