Some are born kings with wings
Like mushrooms growing on anthills
They get to battle trees in height
Their only prayer
Not to be grazed down
Ambition, not a usable tool
Maintenance, a need
II
Some are born free to spree
Like left kites in right sights
Flying high with the right air
Shaking their rears like proud flags
Their only prayer
Not to meet interceptions
Ambition, neither needed nor hated
For they have a top to climb
Or a down to fall
III
Some are born beggers
Like little orphaned vultures
With no feathers on wings
Ambition is a need to feed
Feeding is continuous risk
To rise
Because what chase is everything
From dust to the breather which sustain
Life has a scary window
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016
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