PRISON OF CIRCUMSTANCE

Locked in a prison of circumstance,
In the physical limits of space,
We shout and sing, learn to dance,
Stuck in this human race.

Bound by blood and skin and bones,
Surrounded by stones and flowers.
Slaves to new media and cell phones,
We measure our lives with hours.

Time for this or space for that,
There is only here and now.
This is really where it’s all at,
And when it should be, somehow.