An abysmal take on existence

All beauty today is mere ornamentation, with no originality or experimentation, 

Expensive looking apparel and the choicest trinkets, fill ever-burgeoning wardrobes and resemble wild untamed thickets, 

Everywhere my eye wanders, sees it naught but dull and drab lines of similar looking people, aye, my spirit begins to tire, much like the Vandalised citizens of ancient Constantinople, 

The uniqueness which should define the essence of one's being has become but a dreamy quality bestowed no longer by the Almighty, the All-seeing, 

Alas for this age where edifices made of stone seem brighter than their creators, painted as they are, in bright and gaudy colors, 

Gradually does the death of my spirit steal upon me, aye, longs it to break its mortal shackles, and be unbound and free, 

As the Grim Reaper makes his appearance at my door, my soul feels but glad, for it no longer has to endure its drab existence defined by uniformity, but instead derive peace, by floating over Heaven's floor.