Who are you working for?

Driving through the town I see beggars, celebrities, friends, and animals.  Buildings painted sideways and free men working like slaves.  The dollar is the engine within this race car.  Working for such a trivial and meaningless boss, giving up our lives for numbers on a page.   A child plays on a bicycle, or laughs at bubbles as they float, filled with a pure and righteous glee.  This is not something we should grow past, rather something we should aspire to.  The innocence we leave behind in exchange for worldly knowledge is ultimately what we end up searching for by the end.  Realizing what fools we've been to waste the opportunity of existence on such unhappy endeavors.  "The goal of life is bliss," says the billboard, and yet everyone who sees it has an opinion on why it's wrong, or why it just won't work for them.  We get so used to the niceties of life that we begin to confuse comfort with happiness.  A starving man can find comfort in bread and water, and a pile of hay on which to sleep, but that does not change his living like an animal.  And so I wonder at what choices I may have.  Lying in my comfortable bed, thinking about the extravagant meals I'll soon eat, I cannot help but see no difference between that other man and me.  Growing accustomed is just that.  Finding joy in all things is something else.