Finite lives
We live such finite lives,
all endings and shortened spans.
Started in hope, continued in vain,
trapped in unreasoning plans.
We brag of our personal freedom,
loving the queues to our play.
Never aware of the costs we impose,
or the hearts of those that pay.
We tie ourselves to the tracks,
and urge the engines to speed.
Meeting finite choices without recourse,
and only the numbers to heed.
The maniacs are out the asylum,
free spirits of rules ignored.
Derided by finite lemmings,
their choices remain unexplored.
Mar 2001 Mark Broomhall