So Many Days
There is always another day,
Faith in this falsehood tests one’s fate.
What if I were to pass away tomorrow?
With something always left for the morrow;
would the next life be one of sorrow?
Perhaps my compassion surpasses my hate,
but when passion calls, I take the bait.
If death came upon me this day,
ever so dearly should I pay,
for so many years selfish play.
Ignorant, deluded, a sorry state,
the moment of death does not come late.
Should my last breath be this hour,
too long have I lived so sweet, so sour,
undoubtedly, I would do naught but cower,
A moment, a snap, over and done,
it all ends, this worldly fun.
There is an escape from this dangerous lure,
for each defilement, I must practice its cure,
so that I might end my days pure.
"Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of
throwing it at someone else; you are the one getting burned."