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MetaVerse Sep 17
Adolf ******
Was a lot littler
Than most Aryan brothers
And their mothers.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2023
descendants of those left behind,

they found fellowship with

a singularly brutal environment,

free roaming meanderers

of a crepuscular exclusion zone,

having trekked into

the camps of liquidators

to beg for scraps,

they nosed into empty buildings

and found safe places to sleep,

stopping at Café Desyatka

for some borscht,

the guides speak only of

visitor or occupant,

there are no tourists here,

only the genetically distinct
Brian Turner Aug 2022
Genetically glad
Genetically sad
I'm running with momentum over scrag and path
My muscles drag me to the destination

Other's pass by me
Other's I pass
All shapes and sizes
All styles and devices

The view from the top is sublime
Body sore from the climb
The town below think we are mad
Me ...I'm genetically glad
I wake up everyday half I can get myself out of bed without any help.
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2020
There is no middle ground
This taking sides again

It's Adam or Eve
She, deceived
He, the willful one

Once naked
Now ashamed
And misconnected

Within an
Inauguration of leaves

Sleeping upon
Thorns and thistles

The genetic defect their own
To carry forth
Children of sin and death

In the shadow
Of something now
Unattainable

It was never
About appetite

It was always
About sovereignty
Elena Mustafa Oct 2020
My spiritual abilities
My knowledge
Of religion
Bible or Quran
Where handed down to
Me via blood
Via DNA
M R White Feb 2020
At times I fear I am just like my mother,
Irresponsible, corrupt, deceiving.
Going no where – fast.
Gathering too much of the bad genes in my body.
They range from,
Alcoholism,
Being dependent on any type of pill,
To being with controlling a spouse.
I have never seen my mother with a man that was good for her.
This is another looming fear, being under the thumb of controlling men.
I think things like that run down the bloodline.
It’s all I have seen as a kid,
A man has to be controlling to really be in love with you,
A man has to put you in your place to show you he cares,
A man has to fully support you,
strip you of anyway of being independent;
because that is love.  
It is scary, and you yield many red flags.
But something in me finds beauty in it.
I know this is horribly sick, I know this isn’t right.
But something about the fight, is so beautiful.
When you tell me I mean the world to you,
I believe it, I do.
But something else looms over my head.
And I’m not quite sure what it is,
but it is quiet and sly.
This is what I fear what my mother felt,
A looming fear over her head, not even realizing the weight.
This is what draws me in, I feel myself reeling closer, and closer
to this unsettling, but secure feeling.
A promise of a beautiful land to live on,
with a beautiful family and wonderful home.
A promise of a great life, but at what cost?
My own father? My family?
It seems odd that you would want to strip me of the man that raised me,
the man that molded me.
Of everyone near me that I have grown close to through the years.
Odd that you want to be my one and only.
Quite literally.
But something is so intriguing about you.
I can not help but tell myself that you are the one.
But again, at what cost?
This is my biggest fear, I do not want to inherit this gene from my mother.
I do not want the gene, of having
every aspect of my life needing to be controlled.
To be solely reliant on one human being,
and it not even be myself.
That is my fear.
To be merely dependent on you.
I love you, I love you so much.
And that is my fear, loving you more than myself.
And putting all my life on the back burner to please you.
I beg of you,
do not be that man.
Your envy is green as a sly snake, and it is evil.
And your anger, my god your anger, it is red as the devils horns.
But,
your love, compassion, and sensitivity,
is as warm and pink as the act of love making.
And love trumps all, does it not?
Your envy may be green, and anger red.
But your love is what makes me feel whole.
I love you, and understand,
I will give you all of me.
As long as it does not drain me.
Francie Lynch Nov 2018
I am no longer a Roman,
Though my nose would differ.

I'm not Viking,
But my descendants have blonde and red hair.

I am a beneficiary of the dark ages,
The scriptoriums and monasteries
That brought the Greeks and Romans to life.

I am not Gael, though my eyes smile
When I hear the harp and pipes.

Neither am I Saxon nor Norman,
Victorious or defeated.

I, we, have metamorphized,
Casted of the moulted casement,
Spread dry wings and lifted,
Carried on fresh winds
To new worlds
To read, write, fish and hunt,
And I have gathered
My lineage,
Framed it in genetics on my wall,
To point at in fond remembrance
Of what I once was.
Paul Butters Jul 2018
Life clings on
In deserts, ice sheets and hot acid pools.
Those selfish genes persist:
Batons in a Marathon relay race.
Generation follows generation.
Clone adds to clone.

So life spreads:
The mightiest empire,
Covering all the globe.
A world full of living wonders.
All manner of plants, insects and animals.
Oceans teeming with fish.
From tropical paradise
To awesome glaciers.

We must be mindful
Of this glorious beauty.
Mother Nature reigns supreme.
Sing and rejoice,
Party hard
And put aside
The awful truth -
That in the end
Everyone dies.

Paul Butters

© PB 26\7\2018.
A thought I cannot escape.
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