There are some who don't travel.
Not because they can't,
Instead because they see the cost

People who can't stay still.
Who jump at the hint of boring.
Afraid of facing their own thoughts
Of silence.

Where is rest in a life like that,
Time to appreciate the small things in life.
There may be a balance there.

A place where having that power
Is useful, but not abused.

In stories power is given to so few.
It becomes their responsibility to help others.

With so much power given to so many,
There is no responsibility.
Each use it to their own pleasure

They don't need to help others,
Others can help themselves.

They grow so cold,
So selfish.
Trapped in a cycle of excitment,
They can only see the downs.

The pain in their world.
Not the pain of others,
Not all of the good in their life

If you are in the cycle it's so hard,
Hard to stop chasing,
Hard to see the good,
Hard to get out.

Yet that is what you must do.
To free yourself from your own chains.

To jump from world to world,
Place to place, in a instant.
It is hard to deny,
Yet you must control it.

Yet we will all forge our own chains again,
It seems only a matter of time.
We forget the pain at the end of the tunnel,
For the pleasure at the beginning.

The sirens song
 - The wise words of a traveler
    Followed by some, eventually forgotten by all