What Is Life?

He looks at women

And sees pleasure,

Like cakes in a pastry shop.

Each one, to him, is another flavour

He feels entitled to taste.

He eats the cake and says,

What else is there to life?

I have the money.

I have the drive.

Why shouldn’t I have them all

While I am alive?

Maybe, in his world,

He is right.

But why is grief

Always our plight?

Why must the pleasure

He calls his life

Pass through our hearts

Like a sharpened knife?