Choices are premises strewn with thinly varnished vices.
And life, the midwife that in their delivery specialises,
Does, serving the deserving with unnerving, coarse punishment,
Forgo all mercy in a legacy of admonishment.

'Tis stupid thought, to trust in its occasional coincidences,
'Tis stupid sight, to view a night through lenses of pretences,
For in a realm already blinded by myopic dogma,
Believing in the lore of life is cerebral glaucoma.

And I shall not withhold credit where credit should be offered,
Through several phases, life has played serendipitous chauffeur,
And oft when earthly justice falls susceptible to censor,
'Tis easy to believe in an invincible dispenser.

But I would rather choose investment in my blood and body,
Than pour my hope in forces that punish my slightest folly,
For while it might beguile me with that scanty happy favour,
The mist of life is too bizarre to turn me a believer.

~•■•~

A/N- Some of my school friends don't so much believe in God as they do in the theory that their life is geared towards ensuring the best for them. Which, if not coupled with a conscious effort to improve yourself, is a cancerous line of thought. Now I know not everyone's life 'punishes their slightest folly', but my experience has told me that life is definitely more bent on punishment than reward. The poem is an exaggerated version of my belief, but I truly find it unsafe to have faith in something so unpredictable. Life is a playground to try out all your other beliefs; it's crippling to direct your driving faith towards life itself. What do you think?