Born to die

Headlong you rush towards your perceived, intended destination. Eager to reach the journey's end. Forgetful of an indifferent grave that awaits with a cold embrace of dirt offering scant, uneasy comfort. Speeding, racing, hurtling through the hours, days, months, years – inexorably pursued by relentless time. Oh, intolerant, weak creature! How you are haunted by this undeniability: Dying You are, from the moment of your birth.