It goes on, still.

Gadgets are always trippy
For the first few months you have them
Then somehow they subside
Into the familiar lull of everyday living
And serving you

Same with us
We work through piles of chores
Telling ourselves the reward
Is rest when we finish
But we never do

Why run on the treadmill of life?
Ride on the train of pain
That hurtles indefinitely
Towards some inevitable
Unhappy circumstance?
Still there's joy

Still there's joy
When we find it.