Why am I here? Why are we, you and I?
Have you found meaning in anything?
One thing? What greater thing do we seek?
We, mere objects in the midst of other objects.
Sealed solid into the nothingness in which we lie,
Enslaved to the dangled hope onto which we cling,
Objectified in the course of a liberation so bleak,
Euphorisized by the call to arms for the subjects.
We struggle, for we must, to live, but must we die?
Must we carry the hives for them and bear the sting
As they glean honey and suffocate us with their reek?
Why must for the poor man only be the pandects?
Truly, for the burdened the day is nigh, and he shall defy
A consciousness shall awaken, a direful earnest aching
To free himself of what has for so long made him weak
To create a meaning, to demand for what he expects
And then...and then he shall be a free man
Perhaps.