Ants

We are all but ants,
Working and scurrying about.
Living in our underground,
Living our life out.
Hidden from the light of Chance,
Deaf to Freedom's sound.
We wander without aim.
We wander without a shout.
We wander about our mound.
We believe every word without a doubt.
Our lives have become a pointless shame.
Our spirits must be found,
For our time is almost out.


Copyrighted ©2001 by Christopher Gielbert

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