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Where is the finish line?
I would give anything to
discover it; for it seems as
though this race would be

defined quite nicely if only
someone would point out
how a person could succinctly
finish and complete the effort.

Who is this daemon who drives
me furiously to accumulate
always more?  Enough is a 
word never granted by spirit,

and as soon as a goal is achieved
it becomes boring within a day
or two.  One would think I
could readily control desires

so easily identified then
described quite neatly on a
page, but like any other disease,
identity does not bring a quick

healing.  Instead it presents a 
mocking whisper to underline
the need to acquire more, then
asks, 'where indeed is the finish line?'

Will and Ariel Durant (1885-1981 and 1898-1981) wrote in "The History of Civilization," how "Every vice was once a virture, necessary in the struggle for existence; it became a vice only when it survived the condition that made it indispensable; a vice, therefore, is not an advanced form of behavior, but usually an atavistic throwback to ancient and superceded ways."

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