The tires of a man
Drawn out on the map of
destitute
Snakes out into the rivers of
trouble
The dunes of challenges cling
to him
The drowned clasp the hands
to their bosom
Failed they are to who they
are
Flesh against flesh
Bones jar out
Scars bleed out
Fate blur
Wounds infected
Troubles into solutions
Worse to worst
Paths into sinking sands
Born into this world with a
curse to a man’s head; to draw the yoke before food is on the table, bears a
heavy despondent on what man has become. Blood baths upon the other; treaties
signed, broken and mended; laws passed; all this to bring a kind of check on
who man is to be.
I say this day that man is
who he decides to be: a caveman, a civilized person, a loner or a sociable one.
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