By Knife Light

If you are born in to this world in a violent manner
Will you not leave in a violent fashion?

Like an infant Caesar,
Drawn born from the cut,
Commencing with the closed-circuit Earth for one
As cleft off in to singular and certain person time.

But nature had cleaned its clock of you.

And, had you been ripened not by knife light,
Zooming out further,
It was your time to be born still.
And you would be denied life by the size of your soft skull.

Doomed by the size of your skull.
Or your mother's lower-body design.