Obsession
Time ticks away, a never-ending flow,
Obsession with objects, we forget to grow.
We cling to the past, and fear the unknown,
Our lives a blur, as time marches on.
In Dali’s surreal and Boschian realm,
Where colors clash and chaos overwhelm,
A symphony of time’s relentless chime,
A ticking clock, a haunting, endless rhyme.
Cogs and wheels, in ceaseless rotation,
Dictate our lives, a ceaseless obligation,
Obsession’s grip, a choking, tight embrace,
In this mad rush, we lose our own true grace.
Animals and trees, in vibrant hues,
Their silent wisdom, humanity eschews,
Humans, objects, cars, and planes,
In this mechanical dance, our sanity wanes.
Roads and houses, symbols of our strife,
A concrete jungle, devoid of life,
We drown in details, hyper-real and grand,
Yet miss the essence, the touch of hand.
Hyper-realistic, skin-tight, oh so fine,
But beneath the surface, a hollow design,
A yearning for eternity, a life so true,
A tree of life, where roots sink deep and renew.
Oh, to escape this ticking clock’s harsh reign,
To find the roots, where life’s true essence reigns,
To shed obsessions, let the spirit soar,
And in the present moment, forevermore.
