To make much of life

‘What is life’ people often say
Not that they want an answer today;
‘What’s its meaning’ they talk about
In hope none speak and catch them out;
‘What’s the point’ we ask the world
As if we’d like what we were told.
‘Life’, we dismiss, ‘is a mystery
Whose meaning we can’t know nor see’
And further, ‘so while we’re alive
Do whatever feels about right.’
So some buy and some others sell,
Some do it badly, some do well,
Some might, but then also might not,
‘It’s okay; just do what you want,’
And so some live, some like to kill,
Some die and can’t do as they feel,
‘But it’s great; I do as I do’
Until the day it happens to you.
And then, then there’s a change of heart,
There, in a second, before you depart:
Now that stuff that felt ‘about right’
Feels a big lie that took your life,
And on that bed with death so near
This mystery – life – becomes so clear;
But alas, all too little too late
When it’s your time to meet your fate:
There, naked, as you came you’ll go,
Wanting the answers you didn’t know,
And on your stone will be two dates,
And a line between, worth but waste.
If naked we’ll go, just as we came,
Then life’s about what we can change,
To answer those questions that we ask
Before our short time here is past,
To make that mystery open and clear
To dying people who’ve no idea.
I’d rather get it now, than later,
Chilled with the truth of the hereafter,
That naked I came, naked I’ll go,
And all I can take with me are souls.

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