Life

Life is a room that starts dark and cold
Doors every which way, some new and some old
Behind each a different trail, a path to success
Some bring more greatness, and others, less
Life is a precipice, with one way to go
The jump is an ending of all things you know
No taste in food and no smell in pine
Death in quiet, your eyes have gone blind
The mountains taste of honey on bread, rye and warm
You see the smell of skin, there’s no harm
I am a rock, hard, stiff and cold
Flimsy as a cart, one hundred years old
Supercalifrajilisticescpialidocious
Similar to me, atrocious
Because I am so normal, walking in my way
“Born of goodly parents”, I do just what they say
The sour bread of trials, though not tasty for me
Will build Jello-like castles, bringing warmth and glee
I breathe in pollution, and breath out holy air
The Head makes music, great jazzy fare
Slice will be rich and famous, and yet be humble too
Humility brings him pride and money- it’s true
I cannot help but proclaim, in only Slice's way
Palabra a tu madre, you piece of bright cold flame
The bluish sky laughed as the sun belched a cry
And said in fiendish humor, “I shall make you die!”