A little poetry I wrote a while back

On September 18, 2005 at a Starbucks in Dallas I wrote the following...

A walk in the mall,
a thousand sub-cultures to buy in to,
a million lifestyles to live
and yet no purpose and no fulfillment
and in the end, no difference.

Doubt
Destroyer of my soul.
Adolescent of my mind.
Burden of my skin.
Hindrance of my end.

Heart
A fraudulent creation of man sold to many and known too few.

To Do:
Every waking moment an opportunity to do
an obligation to do
a need to do
a desire to do
and yet nothing to do
nor anything to be done.
Why is it we always strive to be doing?
Was man created with a restless heart?
Was a desire instilled within him to be achieving?
Where will it end or perhaps when will it be enough?