Life is like a thief to our souls
It pretends to offer us a million chances, a million dreams
But it is never really that way, or so it seems.
Life is so complicated,
Not by choice but rather by right
Some have a whole year, some have only a night.
Who is to say who deserves this or deserves that,
Why must it be this array?
Has everyone not came into the world, the same way?
Life steals all that it can
It pretends to matter, it pretends it doesn’t demand.
Secretly it plots and delivers each blow
I bet you all have experienced this,
I bet you all know.
Life shows us beauty, that lasts for a little while
It displays smiles on the faces of babies
But after that we only have mere traces,
Of the thing that once brought us that smile.
Our minds are the worst pawns in this game
They often forget,
But always seem to remember a regret
A shame, a forbearance, a pain.
That is why we all are the pawns in this crooked game.
Sure we have good followed by fair,
Sometimes we have wishes, but only if we dare.
We may all succeed in what seems a personal challenge or contest
But are we ever truly able to rest?
Will our legacies be enough?
How about all of our stuff?
Maybe just ourselves, will be enough.
Will having the upper hand,
Make us a very content and happy man?
In our courage or fame,
Will we be offered more of the same.
Is all that we are, under our birth name,
Or is it how we survived all our pain.
How we dealt with it,
How we rose despite it
What we learnt from it.
I am not sure
Sometimes even writing is a chore.
Perhaps there are other things for which to write,