only the good die young
the wretched stretch and fold
gray then mold
all the sinners inevitably grow old
if this is truly so,
then afterlife’s keeper must be
cruel and cold
treating life as a commodity only
while it sweats gold
of such saying, I’ve been told
and retold
life for the good runs so quickly
it slips your hold

if all good things must come to an end
then,
I shall live forever.

Maybe we feel empty because we leave pieces of ourselves in everything we love.