We are all connected, you, I, him and her,
even the irritating bloke on the train who eats noisily
or the person who let’s their dog shit on the pathway by your flat.
No matter what you may think there are little roots of humanity connecting us.
Even those who stray too far from humanity cling on,
like parasites, a memory of who not to be.
Even those who pass on, do not pass on
they leave something to inspire
the neighbouring roots
That entwined with their lives.
Our seeds were sown in the same fields,
you, I, him and her, not just your parents, brothers and sisters.
We grew and blossomed flower like
We opened our petals to the sun,
following the light like lost children
until we grow old, too slow to follow the beams
and then our colours begin to fade.
We are all the same.
You. Me. Her. Him. Them
Same starts, same ends.
It’s the middle part that makes it worth our time.