The stark contrast speaks facts, spews figures.
No place for the imaginary - hopes, and dreams
blown to the smithereens
At first conceiving.
Such a world is ours - to walk the tightrope
between life and death is no mystery, no joke.
The fear, for our loved ones, keeps us awake
all night, listening to the owls as they hoot the death
of their prey,
We are all mice, in the reckoning of the fearsome.
The Grim Reaper, he may come too soon
And take away our jewels, our precious, our loves.
We build blocks, try our utmost to hinder his passage,
but we fail.
Yet every moment stolen,
every jiffy we slow him down,
is another moment cherished;
Another moment, where hope blossoms,
and what gives me Life