We are bestowed

The state of life

A spiritual existence;

We breathe

And form ideas,

Spend our days

By our choice,

Expressing art.

Like a phenix-

Each unique

We move and act

And believe

Partially or totally unlike

Then like breath we pass

Go gently

And are remembered

for who we were

For our beliefs

Either earthly or divine

It is our own choices

That create us,

Those that remain at last.

There is no right nor justice

That last gentleness to take

There is no fact, nor truth

About the life

One should make.

Whatever we believe in

Be it humanity or heaven

Pleads for tenderness

And sympathy for man

You may fight for the ill-treated

But not ill-treat

No law, no God,

If there shall one be

Allows to take

What is not yours.

For like a phenix

We are without a like

There is not a right way to be

We should be free

For if not,

We are not we.