The Niche

If consciousness had eyes

We would be viewed as spies

Trying to mine its secrets

To feed a sensory weakness

Imprisoning consciousness into a niche

Where the focus is on becoming rich

Losing the ability to become a conscious witness

In a struggle to fill life with wealth and sweetness

Bitterness is a true gauge

Of the thickness of the walls of our cage

We paint the walls hoping they break

Turning the niche into an endless lake

We cannot leave the niche easily

The best we can do is live in it peacefully

Until consciousness mercifully comes and gets us

From the niche about which we make such a fuss