By Rajan George (11-14-2025)
What is a life when its only goal
is chasing pleasures of ego and flesh—
brief, vainglorious moments that glow
but fade like mist in the morning breath?
To labor only for pleasure’s sake
is draining toil with hollow end;
comfort shifts, and sorrow wakes,
a silent, ever-creeping friend.
The rich may gather, hoard, and gain,
add treasure high upon their shelf;
yet when the winds of hardship rain,
pleasure cannot shield the self.
No strength, no power, nor earthly might,
no wealth amassed in golden store,
can stop the storm of pain’s dark night—
pleasure flees and is no more.
Life was not shaped for pleasure’s claim;
a nobler calling lights its way.
Though we may grasp at joy in vain,
it slips from us without delay.
Some joys are small, yet good indeed—
the quiet fruits of kindly deeds.
But wicked hearts may take delight
in others’ wounds; it turns to blight.
Yet blessed are they who choose to serve,
whose gentle words and faithful hands
bring healing grace to those who hurt—
their joy forever stands.
Life finds its meaning when eternity
becomes the aim for which we strive.
The flesh returns to dust, but we
in righteous hope remain alive.
To live for pleasure is to chase
a shadow racing from your reach;
contentment never shows its face
to souls who make delight their leash.
233 words, 1 minute read time.
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