It’s the jewels of genetics,
A poignant reminder of fecal matter,
As it trickles down hill onto my head,
I fear that I’m not at the bottom,
But a ridge with many below.
A derivative of sobs and sorrows,
One tragedy after the next,
Like many before, passing along the torch,
Belting operatic Soprano with bravado,
The show must go on but for whom?
We get what we give to the descendants,
A legacy of fables with no lesson learned,
To be cursed by the lack of knowing,
Or the universe aiming to antagonize,
All of whom that shares my blood.
Is it the bad that finds the weak,
Or is it the weak that consumes the good,
Washing away the glory of goodness,
As God bows his head in contempt,
For all that we take for granted.
A peasant bunch that wallows,
Schemers that claim nobility and honor,
Love is but a chore or a duty to serve,
A rite of passage rooted in misery,
Thanks to… who or what?
The butterflies fly far away,
As the tornado whirls against their wind,
Unbeknownst to them,
It was their wings that caused this storm,
Incapable of preventing its destruction.
In time, that clock will stop ticking,
And what am I do now?
Is it the inevitable realization,
That what they did poorly,
Was the failed attempt at brotherhood.
My tears are shed with shame,
As my keepers appear to be at blame,
For all that was failed to keep tame,
Through the course of this ancestral game,
We showcase our mediocrity all the same.