Birth of the Dying
We exist in the primordial dark,
While those in the light, our being debate.
When we the speechless speak out who can hark
To save us from impending deadly fate?
To think is to be and to commence life;
That mortal journey of pain and pleasure;
Gaining strength from adversity and strife.
Which catalyst is the one to measure,
The initial product; a mere cell?
But proponents say it is the first breath
And the absence of flaws when all is well;
Anything else is better put to death.
If the measure of a being is thought;
We think our battles are lost before fought.
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