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Contentment

Can we ever be happy?
There is a beauty in the incomplete

Because we look for more

The cliché is that it is the journey

Not the destination that matters

And sometimes clichés are true

There is a complacency that happens

When we no longer have to try

To find happiness or give it

And assume it to be there

Just tumescent sex organs

And dessicated hearts

Contentment has no constancy

Because things get worse

Or better – they do not freeze in time

Like a beautiful piece of amber

They must change or wither

When there is no more striving

We are not fully alive

Love needs to be fed by passion

Hearts need to pulse and throb

Minds need to meet and enthrall

So even when we love

We look for more

Is that the human condition?

To seek beauty and passion

And there is never enough

Never ever enough

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