Ambition

In youth, the streets were wandered in search of God knows what. Aimless in pursuit of goals and instead a product of the smut eternally filling the environment, reducing the meaning of what desires meant. The constant discontent propels thoughts into drunken futility. Self condemnation, depression and sorrow feed the feelings of raw hostility that separate the poor from the wealthy and served, making all their luck deserved. So, hungry remain those at the bottom of the pile, whose mouths are rarely fed, squandered by their own, in attempts to survive; Co-action could have prevented the many dead, but desperation is always the force that drives the hungry and thirsty with little in their lives. But thirst will never be quenched where there is not even water to soothe the souls, no detergent to wash the remnants of the futile and tainted goals. Why live among the work of decay, when life was never intended this way. Once upon a time when I was free from sin I'd wake from my slumber and sigh. Not because of the journey in my sleep but merely because I was still alive. Now filled with ambition, unlike before, I strive in search of success in life, for I'd rather dine with the divine, than watch drunks drink wine.