this life

this life
is not your own.
you are borrowing
the air
in your lungs
the food in
your belly.
the bed you lie
on is
yours but for
a few years.
your shoes
are rented.
everything you
own will belong
to someone else
when you are gone.
even now your hair
thins, as
your body shrinks
towards where
it began.
there is nothing
you can do
that will have
significance
in time.
and yet, you go
on as if
none of this
mattered.