Mockeries of life

What mockeries of life are these they say
in half a word, yet care not for the mindfulness
of those men who in earnest do call and condemn
the attributes and wasteful traits they think of men!
What foolish minds can place faith in empty shells,
that rot in damp at night in storms not yet conceived
and crack when called upon to so do by hammers,
that Zeus may never bow to those beneath his stead.

How amazingly, amusingly it is that people act
when given to condolence of their own enjoyment
and they are wont to believe that their happiness is true
above all else they have ever experienced
although there seems to be some undetected flaw
beneath their smiles, some fear incomprehensible
of coming sadness to end all present bliss
which is reality, so inescapable.

Yet do I myself sometimes, often even, care
for present things by which I could never abide,
were I not so foolish and simple in my heart
and so led on by such fanciful future thoughts
that often are wont to fall away as meat from bone,
when served to delight palates of connoisseurs
who savour human delicacies of appetite
and leave once more nought but hopeless desperation.

That sparkling wit of many friends, who treasure dear
the mirth of words, unseen, unheard, forever lost
to those futile infantiles whose foolhardy minds
can see no more than mine, indeed not e’en so far,
and oh, I cry at night sometimes to think of these
poor fellow creatures fighting for they know not what.
Oh, how I wish that I could help them - but I alone,
what can I do? I cannot even help myself!