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This Curse of Life

These Gifts.
Frozen by the hand of fate,
And covered by measured hate.
Never knowing one the same.
Never knowing, but by name.
And knowing naught but who to blame.

This gift of life,
A curse of strife.
Never knowing the reason why.
Never knowing, though we try.
That life is but a lie.

Filled with memories
Both gentle,
And sad.
Some treasured thru the echoes of our years
Some hated thru the taste of our tears,
And thru a prism viewed.
But the only fact that can be told,
Is that life is just a lie.

Copyright © Stephen Tate | Year Posted 2009