This Cruel And Miserable Life Poem by Boston Kelley

This Cruel And Miserable Life



This cruel and miserable life I speak
of, that is ever-changing like the winds.
It cannot be trusted, yet is viewed as
precious.
It is cherished highly, yet, like
Fortune, shows favor where it wishes.

Oh, Life, why must you be so cruel?
Newborn souls enter through your gates,
eager to receive the body they will partake.
From your domain, you assign each soul
as you please, bestowing unique lifestyles
alike on each one.
They enter this world, innocent and ignorant,
but the life they receive they do not know of.
How tragic it is that you are so random!
From your hand, you shower blessings and
inflict suffering.
Immense favor you pour on one soul and a
thousand hardships you bring on a crowd.
Favor is found in few while rejection is in the
many.
If I should enter this life, how can I be joyful
of what awaits me?
Your ever-shifting nature is like the stormy waves,
rising and falling, tossing and toppling.
You are called a precious commodity, a thing
to not be taken. You are considered a blessing
that anyone is lucky to possess.
But how could you be so good when you are
as random as the winds?

Life favors some and despises others.
One is gifted with success and the other is
burdened with struggle.
One man enjoys a pleasant, fulfilling existence
while the other is haunted by torments.
This cruel and miserable life, as it is to some,
cannot be such a blessing.
If I go back to that realm, awaiting my new
existence, how can I be cheerful of a randomly
chosen life?
For it would be better to remain unborn than
face a lifestyle I know nothing of.

All souls enter this world and are destined to
leave it.
To the Gates of Death are they brought where no
favor is shown.
He brings all to his domain, regardless of events
while living.
In his cold embrace, all are equal; no one possesses
greater importance than the other.
While he is looked on with fear and despair, what
could be so despairing?
He treats all as equals, not extending favoritism to
whom he pleases.
He slowly chips away at each one until they
surrender to his life-taking power.
The hand of Life is a random bestower to all it
passes over while the hand of Death is equal to
those it takes from this existence.

No equality is found in existing as favor
is given to the few.
This cruel and miserable life, may it pass away,
will meet the face of Death.

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Boston Kelley

Boston Kelley

Fayetteville, Arkansas
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