Mat of life
Exquisitely woven,
Pounded by faith
of a thousand lies.
Clogged with years
of inground grime
your fibres slither,
flex and writhe;
Adapt adeptly.
Beat the bullies
who’d have you die.
Survive, survive!
And though above you
Untold burdens
Weigh you down
And lay you flat,
Your warp and weft,
the future,
carry on.
Survive, survive.
And we seek purpose
in your writhings.
Purpose, what purpose?
Survive, survive!
The pattern hidden
in your weaving
means no more than
random chance.
So all there is
to life’s “great meaning”
Survive, survive,
survive, SURVIVE.