Strange Is Life Poem by Smoky Hoss

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.