The world is but a mirage of indefinite infinite forms
Wherein Dwellers nothing more than lost souls of despair,
Infinity of desires in gold laden caskets swarm
Alas! Nothing more nor less than dusty bones bare.

Life, the meaning lost in the race against time
Billion masks craze for glory, power , riches and fame,
Yet they remain unaware, wasting away in a forsaken rhyme
Prophesied long before the advent of all they wish to gain. 

Barrels of material gems, collected through out their existence
But a smile, a hand, an ear, a shoulder never one spares.
What good is life that which is of no good to another presence?
What meaning upheld if one nothing more than glares?

In an endless race to be glorified and remain victorious
How much hurtful pain and dreaded betrayal can one suffice?
Is humanity nothing more than a lost cause never to be glorious?
Maybe redemption, a second last hope, is the ultimate price.

Crude society judges not by what is hidden deep within
Outward look, painted unnatural mask is the global norm.
Ties of love and compassion lost in a desperate plea
And still the question: How much further can our reality sink?