Mystery of souls

This is an old poem I made when I was younger.

There's something I like to call pain. It takes and takes, but what do we gain? Love, laughter? No, that's the opposite. But what happens if we all just lost it? Crying, dying, reminicing on the past. Why is it that life, Flies by so fast? Is it the way we waste it? The way we treat it? Or is it something that happened, and we just couldn't beat it?  Your heart has molded. While others, are golded.  We wrote a bunch of lines, but they always get folded. Life and death are such mysterious things. But, when we die? Do we all come back with wings?
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