I’ve always wanted to write a poem about Life,
So here it is:
What is Life?
You see, you can’t define what it means
Until you find what’s between
The genes that make up its definition;
My recognition of the exposition
That encapsulates the vast idea of Life
Is limited—
Limited in knowing how it started,
How it’s going, how it’s charted
‘Til the very last breath of a being is departed.
You see, the game of Life
Is easy when you know how to play.
But at the end of the day
The production of play is up to you;
You decide the roads you rake,
The turns you take,
The moves you make.
Backward, forward,
Sideways toward
The finish line—end of time
Goal that is in store.
There are many “players” of the game
Who will fool around, put you down
Make you wish you could end the game sooner.
But sooner or later,
You’ll realize the real lies
They tell you to believe
In order to achieve
Their own satisfaction
In their façade of attraction.
You see, the story of Life
Is too short for the strife
That cuts away at our freedoms
Like a razor-sharp knife.
It begins and ends
With no amends to
Apprehend the meaning
It extends.
The Life you choose
Is the Life you live,
The story you sieve,
The gift you give.
I’ve always wanted to write a poem about Life,
So here it is:
What is Life?