Amir787

Our birth is
but a day closer to death.
Naked stark we come to fore—
the very inception, we long for more.

A kid, toddler, child,
in sweet candies, delights.
Like a jagged anchor gripping the shore;
incessantly, we long for more.

To youths, the beauty entices.
Passions unbridled, virtue or vices.
Fancy, dreams, imagination that soar.
In void and plenty, we long for more.

Senility that knocks the deck down.
And death that brings an eternal crown.
On pyre, in coffin, or hearse:
the things that we abhor.
Scrambling—not we—they long for more.