Frailty- Thy name

The puddles of water, lead to a random thought,

About the filth this city has introduced me to.
My conscience keeps wiping my mind clean,
My soul is tired, always seeking avenues new.

What have I wanted from life, really?
A plain, simple and stainless existence.
I am a well learned man,
Do not expose me to pretence.

The short story of my short life,
I will someday share.
With people who don't give a damn,
But read them as if they care.

The story would be real but not new,
The world has since ages known the same.
A man is perhaps born immoral,

But frailty never had another name.

The seventh phase of life

This is a world beyond repair,
Rectification is impossible.
Ignorant people, full of pride,
At the drop of a hat- helpless, gullible.

No moral order, I can seek here.
Always right was Shakespeare.
But such awe of the stage?
Everyone breathing is a player?

Writing a story is not worthwhile,
Each person is at max a chapter.
But words are still the best place,
To bury a character.
In the real world,
Death is the ultimate master.

With heavy steps and heavier hearts,
Fresher perspectives need to be sought.
The Game? To each one his own.
Yours truly must chase a novel thought.