The same as a million others just the same,
Tread on this tired path, and none may claim
A place apart from which to passoy life -
A special place to stand, achieving none in strife.
No great task set our path, no prize lies there,
No destitute we'd feel, no special flare.
Our efforts often are seen in nothing 'gain,
For our abundance of hopes will remain inane.
We'll carry on the same towards our graves,
Pursuing none the same, and still nothing caved
Amongst a mass of people, brought to same fate,
Forever, all o'er, same way to abate.
We may often feel lost and disaffirmed,
Not quite ourselves, yet on, still constrained.
Our dullest moments, evermind, matter naught,
For we too will fade fast, like specks in thought.
No recognition should be, nor reward sought,
But still, these same moments will not be for naught.
For we can persevere, all in a line,
Till, someday - victorious - we will feel fine.
©jamielong
J