Strive

You are born with nothing,
Nothing set,
Nothing determined,
No matter what they say.

But life will not hand you,
Equal opportunity.
You will be set against,
Wealth and privilege.

Many will be still less fortunate,
Contending with no place,
For their poverty, race,
and their faith.

Offer them more than you expect,
For their cause is yours,
And do not be content,
With a superficial switch of oppressor.

For there is nothing just,
In changing,
Merely, the weight, or colour,
Of boot on our necks.

You all stand together,
Or will be doomed to squabble,
For scraps,
Dropped from a master’s table.