What it means to be human
With God’s choice, you’re matched with a life,
A simple lottery number, you are born into the very rich,
The very poor,
The simple middle.
You ask questions,
But the answers are endless.
Tiny prayer offered before a scarce meal,
Gluttony at it’s finest and greed sky high.
Our world becomes demoralised,
By the second we hope.
She withers away,
He needs a casket,
But who can afford one?
One human race,
Divided into many useless groups.
Who do you follow?
Your mosque, my fear.
We are simply animals,
No better than mere animals.
When we can think?
An explosive made,
You’re a martyr.
A gun shining,
In the rays of the sun.
What will you prove,
To your god today?
Days gone with the wind.
Our sins pile up like trash in a landfill,
A rancid stench intrudes our senses,
But this is what it means to be,
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