Gates

I watch from afar.

Unsure of the disease,

Which can be cured with a breeze.

It walks upon earth like a scar,

Yet delicate as a jar.

It can be seized.

But most freeze

Before they are.

________-

This thing called a gift

Is a lie.

As it grows, it drifts

And passes you by.

It ends with a shift,

For everyone must die.