Modern Life's Prescription

A materia medica for the wounded soul

A pharmacopoeia of temporal cures,

The transient unsatisfying dole

From worldly forces casting us their lures

While the inner life is in abeyance held.

We are thrown from satisfaction to desire,

Our lives are tossed and errantly propelled

Along a grounded view that climbs no higher

Than mind's conceptions or our earth-bound state.

We walk as mendicants in regal clothes

Bound in hoops by the whims of time-born fate

Ignoring the god within who slowly grows

Through shocks and stimuli on his inward quest,

The silent One, the great and unknown Guest.