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Statistics

Maybe we are molded by society,
Maybe dna?
To accept those most like Ourselves, Whomever we believe Ourselves to be;
Which may or may not reflect reality,
Accurately . . .
Is it a possibility?
Maybe we arenít an actuality,
Rather an incarnation,
Jumbled biology and philosophy.
Trapped divinity,
Limited by our humanity.
Perhaps He is,
He was,
He evermore shall be.
What then are We?
Why must we define
For something to be?
If it is not named,
Would it really cease to be?
Energy neither created nor destroyed,
A pendulum of noise
Click clock, tick tick
Onward soldiers of this world,
Marching round this circled world.
Stomp, stomp, keep in line
Balancing, faltering . . .
Best be safe and hide behind
All the others keeping time.
Clomp, clomp, shuffle, clomp
Stumbling forward-ish through time
Careful, donít step out of place;
Faster, faster keeping pace.
No, thank you!
I emphatically decline.
I wonít check out as Iíve responsibilities.
Iím here to make it better for posterity,
If they are even a possibility.
Weíre liviní self-importance in this sick and twisted race.
Building callouses Ďround our children
So they might possibly survive
This demanding world of egos-
Combat ready -
Just to be recognized.
Blind to the truth that weíre all the same;
Complex compounds bound in bodies,
Slaves of our personal equation -
Trapped?!
Donít you see? Now I see!
Finally free to be!
What do you choose?
Will you choose Love like me?





saraeaton
Written by saraeaton
Published
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