What are WE

The sepulcher within its confines hold a withering shell where once a grand life spent a journey both of joy and discontent - of pain and love and stories left untold. Too simple and complex I contemplate mortality where souls are briefly weighed, and conscience where the weight of sin is paid against a deed of good that came too late. So...what of death, a tax that must be paid, and measured by the value of my worth? It matters not - the plaintive cry "I tried" when even that was honest truth betrayed. Each day anew I celebrate my birth - and not regret a humble life that died...