Treasure

A treasure of things we have in a trove,
Along our journey in life.
Land and houses, with gold that we love,
For such we work and strive.

We labour, we struggle, we devote our lives,
to gather, store and keep,
A mass of fortune we proudly call
our hard earned treasure heap.

Single-mindedly, we live our lives,
to build up more and more,
Our treasure grows, its value increases,
Until we can build no more.

Then,

At the end of life, we run our last mile
and take our final breath,
We realise we can't take our treasure in style
across the chasm of death.

Alas! The truth stares us in the face,
we realise we have lost,
That the wealth we have built in life's race
aren't worth what they have cost.

For the treasure we hold, those precious things,
are all but vain and worthless,
While things we've ignored, those we should have treasured,
are truly loved and priceless.

For what's really dear, the kindness of loved ones,
and of friends sincere.
Are the only treasure by our side
when the shadow of death draws near.

20191021
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Treasure