Life is a mystery
Hanging beneath the clouds,
Pondering tributaries of blood,
Flowing without resistance.
Life is questioning hearts made of steel;
Even ants marvel to see
Hearts harder still.
Life is a road-block,
Restricting love and peace;
Love cost nothing;
War, a better pedigree?
Hapless, they sustain their reigns,
On babies' milk,
Bottled in wailing tears
Of the widows gone mad.
Life is a laughter
The smiles of a child,
Not jaded by time and sorrows.
Life is even an early morning,
Rising on glittering dew.
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Comments about this poem (Life Is by Buxton Shippy )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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