Some of us are born,
To spend forever searching for meaning,
To work in clumsy hotels and dirty spas,
To wait tables and clean feet,
Some of us are born,
To be morbidly obese,
To die couch stricken,
Or in a soiled bed,
Some of us are born,
Never to be learned or read,
But most of us are born,
Against our will,
To spend an endlessly short time,
Surrounded by those of the same kind,
But solidarity is for the risen,
Not in this connectionless prison.
© Fionn Kelvin Thomas 2019
