Life Poem by Allen Steble The Philosophical Poet

Life...
Sometimes we underestimate its blows
And fall harder than we ever want to believe
Our corporal form gets back up
But ethereally we never do
The naivety of youth pervades our ways
Misleading us into a false truth
The belief that we are somehow ‘good'
In a world that's shown us otherwise
It boils us...
Like the simmering frog within the pot
Unaware it is slowly and cruelly burning to death
Painlessly...
Blissfully...
Numb nonetheless...
Shaping our morality against the grain
Soon we believe there is no answer
No reason or escape from the inescapable abyss
Fate ceases becoming a choice
But an inevitability...
That doom is the four walls we call this room
Life...
So we kill ourselves...quicker than the steaming pot
Yet slower than ever before
The vices of life become our saving device
But only as the grasping tendril of illusion
The magician waves his wicked wand
But no miracle is performed
Only a trick...
An illusion...
A delusion...
To distract us from what we dare not confront
Reality...
We bend, we twist, we break the rules
With futility nonetheless...
We become the warlock
To cast forbidden spells
Immortality...
Endless-youth...
Prosperity...
Yet in its search we forget ourselves
We betray all that once held meaning
We isolate from sanity and reason itself
For we are now conscious
That illusion is our only reality
And what was real
Is in fact that greatest illusion
You never realised