born to vide, force to work

In shadows cast by fleeting breath,
We linger in the dance of death,
Born to fade with passing time,
Forced to toil, to climb, to climb.

A paradox in life's cruel game,
To birth, to strive, yet end the same,
In silent whispers, hopes may stir,
Amidst the burden, dreams occur.

Though mortal paths are lined with strife,
Our spirits seek a richer life,
Born to die, but still we strive—
To find the meaning, to survive.