I ask you Zeus, can man demand
a life away from what must be his own?
To dwell with joy inside a parallel
to his reality, how could this be
and what, if any benefit could he thus gain?

The drunkard flees into the fog of sweet oblivion,
to blind his eyes from utter chaos as it stands,
the soul that rides the current to the sea
may tire and grab on to kindly hands.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/kindly-hands/