You Must Waste Your Life

Not that you choose. You may wake
In a privileged hammock,
Bemused, or you may battle

All your years to storm a hill,
Prove a point, leave a statue.
You may feel it all watching you.

You may hoard your small moments.
You may seize days by the neck.
There are many ways to waste,

And that’s some entertainment,
But there’s no way not to waste.
There’s nothing hortatory

Or aspiring in true must.
As you live, you must have lived,
And living rusts every life.