Vanity ?

From cradle to grave,
is life a journey gone mad ?
What good is there permitting anxieties to wipe my smile away ?
Would I be immuned to all thees gusts of bittered wind ?
Would the interval be just a gag ?

What good is life sitting lonely at my desk
reminiscing the past,
and wondering what it could had been ?
Times passes me by,
I am not what I used to be,
and can I still be what I want to be ?

This life,
is it possible for me not to be me,
be what I never want to be,
And, still live life as it ought to be ?

Now I see,
of not wanting to be,
between break and take,
between tears and smiles,
between brevity and variety,
life is vanity.