freedom of choice

Hereditarily tainted and
Horoscopically weighted
Towards over-sensitivity, home-making
And procreativity -
What law is this?!
That insists we are but product,
Nothing new, me and you,
Not an unblemished seedling, a newborn,
But a culmination of feelings not our own.

That thought elicits a yawn from me,
For how can we face dawn each day
With the requisite freshness, energetically restless,
If we feel there is no choice?
There must be another way,
A place where freedom is voiced,
Not a karma hotel or a bottomless well
Of idea, theory, such crap as heaven and hell,
Oh the stuff of language serves well
But for one thing –
expressing not the wordless notes
we hope to sing.