With good intentions we build,
Lives from dust and ash;
And cling to those walls we build,
As it all goes up in smoke.
For winds change in a flash…
And life is a sick joke.
Build walls high, and build them strong.
Shelter, live, and love with hope.
The storms of time follow along,
Waiting to blow it up in smoke.
There is no reason to curse or hope.
Life’s merely a sick joke.
We erect upon the graves of the lost,
With ashes of hope and remorse.
The ancients’ tears: aren’t they too high a cost,
For our hands to so heedlessly provoke?
As no matter what chart we may course.
Life’s ever a sick joke.
With good intentions we build,
Our lives from bones and breath;
And fight hard, as if the strong-willed,
Won’t burn in flames they stoke.
There is no rhyme to life or death.
It’s all just a sick joke.
K. Aldaya, 2/26/19
My Soul is a Lock Without a Key 