Tomorrow Might Not Come

I looked upon this life—so vast, so small; We chase the skies, yet crumble when we fall. I sought the world, its glory and its gold; But all shall end, no treasure can we hold. We wish to live, to stretch our numbered days; Yet death walks close, quietly in silent ways. I weep sometimes— for the weight much to bear; My soul is tired, alone in crowded air. My uncle said, “When young, you dream so wide; But life will press, and dreams may step aside. From youth to man, your fire may turn to smoke; You’ll wear the chains of life you never spoke.” At twenty-five, you question all you knew; You take what comes, though none of it feels true. From the thirties, thoughts of death come creeping near; You count each breath, each heartbeat, each new fear. We fight for things our hands may never hold; We chase a crown of dust, not made of gold. But what remains when we are laid to rest? The love we gave, the good we did. Alas! It pains so much—youths die more these days, Their lights go out in harsh and sudden ways. Today is ours; tomorrow is unknown; So let us love before we stand alone. Record these words upon your soul and skin: What truly lasts is what we give within.