Death of the Soul
The packages pile up on the doorstep
A never-ending stream of Amazon boxes Each one is filled with the promise of joy But as I rip them open, the emptiness grows
I thought these things would bring me happiness But they’re just fleeting moments of pleasure My soul is shrivelling, consumed by materialism As the delivery truck becomes my constant treasure
I try to fill the void with more and more But nothing seems to satisfy I’m trapped in a cycle of continuous wanting As my spirit slowly dies
I whisper to myself that I need this; I need that But the truth is, I need nothing at all Only when I let go of this constant grasping Will I truly begin to stand tall
The packages keep coming, but I’m done with the chase I’ll let them pile up, unopened and ignored I’ll find fulfillment in the simple things in life And let my soul be restored.
