We are the material of habitual faltering.
Moving headlong into an abyss with no end in search of things that don't exist. Any bit of cognition we gain a grasp upon we hold momentarly before searching for more. Attempting to feed an appetite that knows not what it is to be satisfied. The beast that is man is the representative of the illogical.
The earth is but a tool of man for his molding and consumption. Do we stop to consider the purpose or meaning of the soil and land as it is or do we rush to form it into something that we deem to better suit ourselves. Within we are hollow and push that which resides around us into shapes to fit a hole that bears no shape itself. What foolish endeavors we toil.
Most appauling of all, the outlook and behavoir we exhibit towards those in our same circumstances. Molding and twisting, binding to each other and shredding away at what is already there. If ever our eyes were to be exchanged and see the fate befall ourselves, would we remorse? What Ego, What obsession, What Madness is man.
Chaos sealed into meat and bone.