Everything will look confusing
At a time.
You will think you are been clogged behind
By life's various misgivings
You will be bored
You will be lonely
You will be all but
At peace with your situation of
Unease.

Then a conflict will occur
At a time.
You will suddenly be surged
Into a labyrinth of labour
It will be fun
It will be occupying
It will all but
Sleep, rest, and ease to the brim.

Then, there will be foreshadowing
And flashbacks too
At a time.
You will reminsce those distant old days;
You will call them 'good old days'.
You will sap by the mouth of a distant future
Where you stand before the world,
Free as the ocean water.
And you will be nothing, but
A convoluted plot
And until death lowers you down,
You will be a fragile indefinite resolution.

You will see
That this, is the story of your life.