The Impermanence of Being

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There are those so foolish as to cling to rust,
The impermanence of being, and the certainty of dust.
A bright light now fading, still dimmer, now dead.
“Is there no hope for the living before their end?” it was said.
Our dreams fade like so many days at twilight,
So too our bodies before long can’t fight,
And then we fall, before time, weakened prey.
Our only hope is peace after the frey.
Where guaranteed is our residence in eternity.
Though how we enter it is on us entirely.

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