Closed in a mothers womb,
not knowing we're born to the tomb.
Finally escaping one prison,
only to enter another without reason.
Pictures painted in misery and blood,
we try very hard to find what is good.
A God in heaven up high,
way down below we suffer and die.

Down on ours knees we pray,
hoping only to make it through the day.
On the world scene of show,
death seems to be the main flow.
In a river of death we swim,
chances of survival,
next to slim.

Watching others meet their end,
life continues its puzzling spin.
Around and round we go,
where we'll stop,
we do not know.
Surviving into maturities mold,
appreciation of life takes it's hold.

Seconds become hours,
as we exist in our glass towers.
Moments of pleasure,
become years in measure.
Learning to enjoy the small,
 becomes a treasure.

G