He stands in all of mans intelligence
but it serves as only a puddle hes pressed against.
These are common pages in the book of life,
ripped edges and written lies.
He’ll be soon to learn to read between the lines.
Nervously he pounds his next steps
his doubts quivering through his legs.
The cross roads of life lay ahead,where the future has been led.
this man is as fickle as the rain that trickles
gently down his cheeks slowly carressing before it leaves.
He follows, all even those who'm are hallow.
For his eyes dry from a store to master imitation
dare I say,"let the cloning begin".
Down to the very cell in our skin
shaping our souls to the very figure to fit in,
This is our gun ladies and gentlemen.
When our fads serve only as an injection
to our conciences very voice in our head,
we pull the trigger to diversity as a concept
and demolish all chance of individuality and self intellect.
For all doings have their consequences,
but man kind is unknown to the price of existance.

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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