The Lament of Thought in a World of Emotion

Some times I yearn for lobotomy.
For then I would act on the heart of me.
Without knowing the consequences;
I could dive into seances.
Thinking a prayer could fix this dichotomy.

Yet as the story goes
I spend time with prose
My Saturday Eve just a doze.
There's no woman to woo;
No party to arrive at on cue.
Just a life with known consequences;
Which prevent what I do.

You see a pretty girl means
A lot of effort to preen;
Then a child to wean;
And a whole lot to clean.

After a while the fire will die;
We'll raise our hands asking "why?"
Without a thought about where our hubris may lie.

So with this in mind;
I can't help but pine;
That I'll never spend the time;
Knowing what I would find.

Though perhaps I assume;
and my thoughts just consume;
My solution - to patiently wait;
I don't want to believe that women are a matter of fate.