We All Try To Ride The Time-Machine

why is feeling content
so desired but a truth made dire
when you find yourself pretty sure happy
but so quickly still inquire
as to what more is there, what other
pursuits and pleasures are left
why is content only a walkway
to the edge of emptiness' cleft

I got something I long sought
and thought'd make me smile
and sure enough it does
but I wonder if just for awhile
will I ever feel truly satiated
or do we want until we die
is the most to hope for living
knowing happiness is a lie

it seems everything's disposable
as something new's available
we almost strive to say this doesn't
do as the old was able
like it's easier to know
what was good than wonder if will be
the other, greener pastures,
life's tempting possibilities

love's like this they say
you know it, you just do when so
but then when it ends your conscience depends
on the fact you didn't know
I read a gem of wisdom
printed on a vintage coffee cup
it said love is handling a time machine
which concisely sums it up

who knows whether the past
or future holds the answers
we all try and live somewhere in-between
the figures the clock dances
you can't want something forever
because want is only change
disguised in what we think we need
and revealed as truth in age

and you can never know it all exact
so why get caught up
in wondering endlessly whether
you've ever had it good enough
the best you do is just know want is change
and do what you can to slow
it down 'cause the longer it's the same
the longer you think you'll know.