There is an old lie

There is an old lie

There is an old lie
So subtle, so sly:

“When I finally get
What I don’t quite have yet,
When I finally breach
The wall blocking my reach,
I’ll be happy, content —
My efforts well spent,
All my labors will cease
And I’ll rest, Rest In Peace.”

But let it be known
That upon the tombstone
Of all such enslaved
Will one day be engraved:

“For all of their fretting
It wasn’t the getting,
But only the wanting they craved.”