It seems like life is

It seems like life is a power, electricity in another form. Given body and mind and strength and sight, given no thought, no touch, no warmth. It seems like love is gravity, an illustrious pull. Giving purpose to life and what we know, though never recognized as a gift, only known when it's stolen. It seems like rage is a force, directed, distracted, reflected, a life force redacted. Born of love, propelled by life, sadism and masochism expertly exacted. It seems like happiness is an instruction, printed or engraved. It's packaged and vacuum sealed and will be on the shelves in May.