We might seek some outcome with truth,

A life filled with sorrow is often believed

to be self righteous angst rather than real.

Seems our lives respond to a painful source.

No rhyme or reason to understand choice

just pull up bootstraps, what we are told.

Growing old matters little when an anxious

rival is drawn in our head. We haven’t

achieved what we felt we once deserved.

A life built without promise is easily felt.

How simple to imagine a small certain goal

Is holding open arms to now honor our soul.