A void, ever full

Why's it
That presence is celebrated
Like the petals you wish to touch,
And absence is abhored,
Like the leper you don't wish to touch?
Why's it
That death is mourned
When all it does is break
All ties that bind one
To thee Universe of material and mind
Why's it
That birth is celebrated
When all it does is bind
One to all that one calls his own,
Like the spider that binds it's prey
In a web of deceit all it's own!
Strange are the ways of man,
Seeking to escape from the dream
That he spends all his life fuelling,
To finally realize,
That dreams have no choice,
But to come true!
Like the slave bound to his master,
Like the snake bound to it's skin,
Like the caterpillar bound to it's pupa,
Why's it
That so few are led by the truth,
And so many are led by the false
Strange indeed are the ways,
Of this self fulfilling dream,
Which is all I've ever known!
O fool,
Celebrate absence,
Of all you've ever known
Mourn the presence,
Of all you'll ever know!