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From Cradle To the Grave

From the moment I was born I wept. I cried out of wanting, After all to want is the first natural humane instinct. As I got older I walked through life holding open my heart to experiences even if unwillingly. My eyes remained wide as my legs carried me through twisting generations.

I have laughed gaily without judgment, grieved earth shattering loss, embraced joy beyond what the motion pictures portray and loved and been loved more than any fictional character that its writer breathed life onto paper.

From cradle to my destined grave I stroll on earths vast plain of emotion to take hold of life and live as if tomorrow my again body would be laid to rest.

A newborn cries because it is its horn of proof that it is thriving with vitality. An elder gently sobs under breath knowing each day they inhale is another day of dying. We are born into cradling arms and are buried cancelling ourselves, From life to death we take memories we've made from cradle to grave. Nothing is more precious, needed and wanted to either groups young r old than a life fully lived before the final chapter is read.

Birth to twelve is layered in childhood innocents. Becoming a teen is our first presumable milestone and we assume ourselves to be made of granite like Galatea.

Throughout our twenties our lips taste first loves even lust but gracefully as we age our minds and souls carry us home making a place to rest out weary bodies, a place to rest with growing families. Children come wrapped in beautiful ribbons and we grow old. Wrinkles come, inevitably dependency goes then we parish to our coffins made by younger, sometimes older hands.

But even after we rest under feet of blackened tear filled soil we live, To be born again or to be swept away by Gods gentle voice no one person can say.

But we live and breath, inhale life though our lungs from cradle to the grave.

"Sorry for not capitalizing, hope that fixed it! Please keep commenting :) Much love, Whit."

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