Title:  Part of the Pavement

Author:   Sigur Rós
Category:   Musings
Keywords:  Miscellaneous

Views: ( 486 )

This life –
It riles me.
It makes no sense.
As we grow older,
And time ravages us,
We grow bigger and stronger
(Except for the less fortunate:
They die young or live in misery).
However, I have spotted a problem:
The aforesaid attributes aren’t always good.
It is sometimes a lot safer to be weaker.
I was weak once – we all were – and we were protected:
Every single person abided within a warm womb,
And therein was nourished to such perfection that they were born.
Thenceforth we, if we were fortunate enough, were clothed and watered;
We suckled until our stomachs attained satisfaction, and then slept.
Therefore, we can reasonably ascertain that my theory is correct.
When we are released into society, though, some of us flounder:
Those who were destroyed or miscarried, and never did reach this world,
Are forgotten, and those who do falter are the new failures.
The wealthy, the free and the able-bodied often jeer,
Without comprehension of an unprivileged life.
No-one’s there to protect us: we are vulnerable.
We’re sometimes ill; sometimes, without family.
We either scatter or stay in a herd:
An especially cruel Morton’s fork.
Vagrancy is seen as heinous,
And likewise is poverty.
We resign to corners
Of streets, of vision.
Cardboard boxes.
No duvet.
Curl up.

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