Life

I've heard it said more than once,
Perhaps some myriad times,
Expressed in pale, prosaic prose
And oxy-owlish rhymes
by poet and philosopher,
optimist and skeptic,
kibitzer, biographer,
pessimist and cynic;
by the wealthy-laden, poverty-ridden,
social scientist and critic
that regardless of who you are,
Life isn't fair - never will be,
it's just the way things go,
sometimes yes - oftentimes no
you reap what you sow.
Filthy rich, rolling in dough,
stone-broke, penniless, dirt poor,
is determined by some hand of fate,
when knocking at the door.

It matters not your force or bent
Life isn't fair - never will be,
it's just the way things are,
the Midas Touch, the Silver Spoon
or wishing upon a star,
is like a stealth-like reaching hand
in the proverbial cookie jar.

Life's a split second in the span of time,
a brief, bottled-space, a limited chime,
rather prophet, saint, sinner, devil,
a doer of evil or righteous deeds,
the double-jointed hand of life
offers few guarantees.

Life isn't fair, it's a two-edge sword,
a Janus-faced catch 22,
one half of conjoined twins,
temporarily on loan to you.

So live and be merry - wed doubt and trust,
bond with Life's ups and downs,
For She's a series of leaps and bounds,
and in the end there's just one result
which is ashes to ashes and dust to dust.