My Poetry. Born with Nothing Die the same!.

As we try to progress
through everyday life,
we sit back and think,
dissecting with a knife.

"Will this day be cool,
or will it be crap?
What are our chances,
which days to scrap?"
Equally, we hope
that life will run smooth.
With all that's going on,
what can we improve?

Take each day as it comes,
face it with a smile;
take on your adversaries,
make it all worthwhile.
When all is said and done,
you'll find you did your best—
you conquered the unreasonable,
you mastered the test.

We are all born equal,
with nothing to spend,
bare and vulnerable,
on adults we depend.
When we leave this Earth,
again we are bare,
whether life was fantastic
or maybe unfair.

So be happy with your lot,
or be defeated in life.
What's the use of misery,
trouble, or strife?