This is what defines us as the human race,
the protocols
we put in place.

When the improbable unthinkable is the unstoppable tide that washes up on the shore and becomes the reality which some would wish to close and bolt the door on and others just stand by the well wishing it were all gone and still others who sit on the fence as if this was a sideshow,
stony-faced watching the constant flow and the ebb of the dead.

This is what defines us as the human face, the uncaring where the race is the same as the one that we're in, there are no winners here, no standards to bear, no medals to win to pin on our chests.

The boy on the sand in some far distant land,
this is home?
are we there yet?

We get what we are served, but who deserves to lay and die? and I reserve the right to wonder why the locks are on the gates to freedom, freedom, but only
for some.