Perhaps Chopsticks

What is it then that binds us to the mob, and asks so much of our most precious inner lust? Will they relent in their demanding heartbreak throb or would plain sanity whip up a healing gust of soft humanity and altruistic wallow is this reality, god-given, an excuse or fraying vanity with braids so very shallow that even devils do consider it a ruse? Could we be masters then, of life's intriguing plan to sweep away the dust o f Cinderella's ashes or will our fellow bastards fight us as they can with ill-won skirmishes and convoluted dashes? And I think not, so says the meek and humble vagrant who sits and watches with detached and hollow eyes he could not care about a body somewhat fragrant and only welcomes little weevils and all flies. Are we so righteous that the bums can teach us fools that all those animals in zoos and in our beds and even plants in pots who follow different rules are far superior than the famous Mister Ed? I have no answers, guys, perhaps you ask your preacher or politicians, for the riddle's whole equation I am no baker and no butcher and no teacher perhaps a maker of great chopsticks, proudly Asian. .