The mind is like a hungry ghost
A parasite of a phantom host
That’s caught in the spell of what it wants most
It’s ravaged by craving and misbehaving
While diagnosed with an overdose.
Longing to get what’s forever not yet
It bleeds for the needs that can never be met
It’s forever a beggar in search of a pleasure
In search of a treasure,
yet forever in debt
The mind’s unaware of its fatal blind spot
So it struggles to get what it’s already got
It acts like it’s rough and acts like it’s tough
But it really thinks that it’s not enough
So it strives to become the person it’s not.
And so the prodigal son continues to roam
He’s numb to the effects of the seeds that he’s sewn
He’s punch-drunk on fun with a splash in the sun
For he hasn’t begun
To search for his home.
Yes, the mind is like a Hungry Ghost
Whose dreams of wonder have turned to toast
It’s addicted to action without satisfaction
A runway of fashion bereft of compassion
That struggles to cope with a slippery slope
It’s a life full of strife without reason or rhyme
A life that ignores what was there all the time
It’s a self-imposed jail that has failed to post bail
A ridiculous tale that denies the divine
So for eons of time it’s been an endless travail
Between the Hungry Ghost and the Holy Grail.
Elliot Sullivan
