Silently stalking prey abound in the vast underbrush,
It is our ability to capture it we supremely trust.
An existence undoubted, vindicated by the long chase,
As debts of time are built without heed to the waste.
The thrill is inherent, it drives us further along,
Thinking only of the target, not what may be wrong.
Yet it eludes us time after time again as we follow,
Even as the lie of success becomes easier to swallow.
Soon we are celebrating amidst the joy of the win,
Unable to comprehend that it is nothing but spin.
As the power of this system comes from a delusion,
The belief we are moving forward in this illusion.
How wide my eyes must seem to those who are blind,
Souls tenured in the vicious cycle of this grind.