Why do we live? Why are we born? A fleeting moment for the living to mourn? Birthed into life no fault of our own, a choice made before we were known. The journey has begun, the sand now falls, the number of grains unbeknownst to us all. In the hands of the reaper our fates stay, write the story we may but the ending he’ll script both time and day. Differences we have but one thing we share, eternal slumber; the release of our cares.