An Empty Lament

I realize that it sounds more than just a bit didactic!!
But I WAS really frustrated when I wrote this poem sometime this summer.
Some editing aimed at smoothing up the poem done at the behest of SUNIL YESHWANT

Blood , lust, and hate drive me,
Drive me ruthlessly to the golden fleece,
Why, you will ask, is it that I am bitter,
For 'tis surely bitterness that stains this piece!

O, to that I have no answer firm,
But know this I do at this moment,
That never , no never shall I ever
Find an antidote to my soul's lament.

Is this poison really there, I ask,
And ask myself this often I do,
Or is it that all this pain dour,
Is not really there at this hour?

But , to that I shall retort most vehemently,
True, 'tis a lot of whining from me,
But then I ask you, are you not the same?
You know the answer, if honest you be!

For the world is but a mirthless phantasm,
Each man's world his very own,
We dont really see men around us,
'Tis a trick of the mind that makes us mourn!

I see the world through these eyes of mine,
Indeed, every man plays this game,
'Tis a strange world, we see our own,
And yet, in hate and love, all are the same!

And yet you will wonder, that what could be
Driving me ruthlessly to the golden fleece,
Wherefore is it that I am bitter,
For 'tis surely bitterness that stains this piece!