Sonnet 8

I suffer from a terminal disease,
They call it "life" (and say there is no cure.)
I fight-each day-without a moments peace;
Instructed that no thing is known for sure.

The worst part is that I am so aware!
And each moment has endless things to miss.
I make my plans but this world doesn't care;
It's serving to some other person's bliss.

But I can still find humor in it all
And laughter is the cure (for that which ails.)
The best of times are simple to recall.
I'll learn a whole lot, every time I fail.

        When I can be, I'm honest, kind, and fun.
        Too bad, it seems like I'm the only one.