Strange Is Life

I run across souvenirs of the mind here and there, from time to time, I think how we enter the world not knowing our name how we're born lonesome souls, and will probably die the same; to understand these little gems is to understand your own shadow will always be your closest friend; dreams start close to the heart and end so very far it's not good or bad, just the way things are, for the better or the worse, we keep it going from the cradle to the hearse, perhaps never finding, never knowing the reason for it all, or why mankind truly had to fall; it's simply the way it is, in this strange life, we all must live.