You,
Harpy
In all men,
Insidious,
Selecting with guile
Occasions to ensure
Life's inexorable climb
Is lubricated against hope,
By tears wrested from sad eyes
Of jaded jade and jet,
Pools of pique in pits
With no limits,
No reason, 
No light, 
None.
Tests,
Lessons,
Punishments,
Trial by living,
Ordeal by bad deal.
We are the thralls, the pawns,
Frozen in some daring show,
Still-born drama by some crazed author.
Paranoia is our right:
Inherent, comforting,
The ambient womb
Shrouding the glare
Reality 
Bathes in. 
Why?
Why
Indeed?
Why in thought?
So many "why"s,
So many unwise.
The Human Condition,
Purulent, cancerous,
Yet not without remedy, 
Nor, within, pain and rending soul.
For the spirit is wilting,
The flesh reeks, reflecting.
Surgery must raze,
Then recreate,
Whole and hale,
Pure and
New.
Melt
And fuse
And transmute
The raw essence,
The collective stream
Of loves, shared pain and joy,
Which swirls in chaos, erodes
The reeling framework of being.
Transmogrified, we shall be
Islands of bliss, cascades
Of joy, seas of peace. 
We can create
Utopia!
We will! 
Now!