Europa Poem by Morgan Michaels

But, who could help being born. It happens and wasn't a choice at all, but the outcome of mere, vile sex. The one born is only an innocent by-stander. And suddenly we become the fleshy conduits of needs and desires forged in one forge or another. These abetted, we're content. Thwarted, we're glum. And the happiness of one implies the misery of another. Taking a larger share leaves less for others, who don't mind taking a larger share themselves. Though taking seems natural, people stay watchful. They're scarcely angels, people, though they might be, if properly motivated. At worst, they seem clueless. Could that be? Which is better- the grasp for individual happiness, or the push for the commonweal? Should happiness be sacrificed for the sake of the many? A single mouth's happiness divided by the mouths of many? Can happiness divided be other than divided happiness? Or can the sum be larger than the parts? It was surely less hazardous, in the long run. It was pleasant to give the poor their bread. It made the king, her father, sit prettier. You gave...and people liked you for it. It was nuts. Only her father loved her for nothing, and she loved him for it.