Attracted by a fatal incline
Made its way, heeding mental notions
Towards a slope that ends in a precipice
The egg, bound to smash,
Would release the bird within
But the shell has to die
And suffer the illusion of pain
Fights for the soul are as such futile,
They are only won,
By avoiding them
I see another, bird enter a cage
And await the spikes to pierce
The spike comes down,
But the bird goes on, staring in disbelief
I asked the bird, if he can extract,
This straw of deadly pain
And choose quick surgery,
Over slow death
The human mind, feeble,
As I have seem my own
Chooses slow sweet poison
Over quick bitter medicine
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