Lost

We walk and commute to pass through life,
We miss the fact that through pain and strife,
We lose our childlike inquisitive sense,
So that blackened feeling is your heart's wrench.

We begin to feel a little less everyday,
Not realising that our routine makes us pay,
It's a heavy cost but we give willingly,
Our minds ignore this, chillingly.

The job you possess is simply a ruse,
To make you feel your life has a use,
Your possessions mean so much,
When we use them as life's crutch.

But as we age and time strikes,
We realises our heart is impaled on pikes,
And on our death beds we count the cost,
Finally realising, throughout life, we're lost.