Is It Real, Is It Real?

We should’ve been poets
Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of iambic pentameter
But this fast life had us
At go
So much so we don’t have the time to design something refined
Instead we invest in a mine designed to extract metals that are refined so we can design a life with a boat, model hubby or wife, while on the side a little extra vice
How else to survive a life so bland without a little spice
Enticed by the device to replicate the plight of the might
Convinced we the height when the peak not even in sight
Those shown the light are blinded by the might of the night

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