Comfort
Doesn't give happiness
The amount of mental illness
Is exactly the same
In any two normal communities
No matter how rich
Or how poor
They are
No,
Having your roads pitched
Having your house concretified
Regulating your room temperature
Having a machine to take the
Numbness of washing
From your fingers
Traveling in soft, fluffed up seats
Without having to jostle against
A dozen people for two inches
To land your butt in
None of these will make you happy
Neither will fulfilling
The myriad other desires
Of comfort
Not even
Being able to do
Nothing, if you so wish
Happiness
Does not lie in comfort
The mentions
Of prozac and valium
In the so called civilized nations
Makes me dizzy already
And yet,
None of us
Will give up
Even an inch
Of the comfort
That we have
Nor stop striving
For more
As if it was
The only thing
That mattered
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