Glass Poetry Press

Volume Three Issue Two

Robert Hastings

The Meaning of It

We are born to contend for the top spot We are born to endure through self-preservation to divide from the rest of the herd We are born to clutter the freight trains of the world We are born to hustle soul from the good and the just To load our pistols with a smile with style For every year of peace on Earth, there have been 400 years of war We are born to plant roses at the feet of our dead