I used to think that fish
In little bowls and aquariums
Were pitiful prisoners of men
Deprived of freedom
Defined by frontiers
Hindered by limits
But now I know that fish
Might be happy in their prisons
Able to explore all there is to see
While humans keep on getting lost
In their prison of infinite possibilities
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Between poetic and pathetic. Missing the point in an aesthetic manner. Poetry. Pastiche.
We are born when we are born. We look around and see what we see. We then get on with it. We deal with what we have. This was true for those born one thousand years ago. It is true