Is the Grass greener?

From our own toils - we harden.
Beleaguered we become; as we work- 
Towards someone else's aims.
What we want and what we claim
Are not always opposed, but lurk 
Instead in our hearts, and pardon
Our amazement at ourselves - happiness

Have we found in this - sustaining 
Of another's dreams.  Not forgetting
Our own gleams of imaginative hopes
And, as they continue to lope
In our dreams, ne'er shedding,
We add to its luster a sheen
Which intuition knows is impragmatic.

And, as such, leave as a whispered 
Tale of fantasy, wonder, and luster
Our embellished reverie, dissipating
Our original homely dreams lying
From small desires.  Can we muster
The strength to ignore voices heard
From the fantasies of those owning their dreams?

If happiness truly found in simplicity
Is, then why not true of dreams as well?
Our dreams enigmatic appearance can't
Bring enduring happiness as sent
As our savior from this mortal hell
Of banal, Carnal, or insipid lucidity
Of this, our continual contentment

With the fulfillment of self-preservation.
We mustn't be discouraged at ourselves
Things mattering to us that could be;
Ceaselessly setting for ourselves what should be;
To achieve happiness, not health
That we've never had - nor affirmation 
Should we give to another's fancies.

For we mustn't forget our own
And never should we stray from 
What must, we know, be, in the end
That we must - in all things - lend -
And from selfishness does coveting come
Of dreams that are both not our own- 
Nor have we any rights to.