There is this old poem that comes to my mind about the sadness of our lives... there's a line in it that goes, we will never be good enough and its that line that haunts me.
Here is the rest of that poem:
The sadness of our lives.
We will never be good enough to each other,
to our parents and friends.
We go along like old sailing ships,
loaded with food and drink for a long voyage,
self-sufficient, without any outside contact
with the world.
The truth faces me
all the time. We are in a world
in which nobody listens to anybody,
in which we do as we please
until we are stopped by others.
We live our whole lives as in a husk,
which keeps us separate from any influence.
While those who reflect the influence
of others are either idiots, or people
who never gained consciousness.
--David Ignatow (b. 1914)
I am trying to locate it online so I can link to it.
But it is yet another example of how poetry speaks across the ages and nations and taps into the collective universal spirit