Every day with breath is a win.
One loss coming, when death clocks in.
Just a smudge on all horizons.
Birth to death; where life’s the hyphen.
Each step taken leads to that scythe.
There’s no hiding; no freeing writhe.
Seems a curse meant to crush us flat.
Yet, we bravely live knowing that.
Still, everyday not his is good.
Hope for tomorrow? Knock on wood.

