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Writer's picturePaul R.S. Hanna

Work & Identity

Updated: Mar 1, 2023

We do not choose to join this world, for made we were to be.


Born blind and mute, quite frail are we, our souls cannot yet see.


With love, we hope, compassion, care, we grow alongside kin.


They too, we learn, were once naive, and just as stained by sin.


We cry, we scream, we tantrum throw, ourselves we cannot raise.


We yearn to please and action seek that might earn us their praise.



A seed no more, a sapling grown, we head on off to school.


For eighteen years and then a few, prepared to be a tool.


We’re told in work that we will find that which we deeply yearn.


Defined, we are, by what we have, more so how much we earn.


From nine to five we give away that which we get not back.


We start to sense the gift we waste, our time ‘tween black to black.



What more is there? How can this be? Our hopes and dreams bereaved.


We have some sense, we know not how, that we have been deceived.


Some blame the Lord, some blame themselves and fellow man some hate.


Some hope, at best, to numb the pain, resigned to bear their fate.


Bitter, dark and cold become, just like false fuel we drink.


No wonder then, so many lost and teeming on the brink.



Which lie chains you? You are your work, just here for fields to plow.


Perhaps our God you doubt is real and thus you cannot bow.


These words you read for shame are not, I once was just like you.


I too, defined by what I own, more so by what I do.


Who you were made in love to be is hidden by this mask.


To take it off and see your path, you only have to ask.



The few who see, what can we do, for those who are still blind?


Seek peace, have hope, joy lies ahead, they think I’ve lost my mind.


Endure we must, the scorn and shame, of those we want to save.


We have to show it’s so much more than rules to just behave.


We must not fear, nor path depart, our journey through this plane.


Take heart, dear one, the God we serve gives purpose to our pain.



No dollar bill, nor stock, nor bond has bearing on your worth.


No coin, nor gold, nor diamond pure shines bright as human birth.


The largest sum one can conceive cannot measure your soul.


Discard these lies and come back home to He who makes you whole.


No math no means in all the earth can value the divine.


For who you are and why you're here is simply "you are mine."

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