Indenture

Life is but a loan,
Contracted with the one,
The years that you own,
Have effects to be borne.

You sign the contract,
Unbeknown to all,
Each day is an extract,
From the infinite scroll.

Every day is a fresh page,
Written from scratch,
You are left to do damage,
Or of it make the patch.

At the end of the pact,
It remains yet unknown,
Continuing with abstract,
For none is ever shown.