Death of Humanity
A frame sits in front of me
Its bones are bare
save for its muscles
All that is physical is prepared
Lights shine on this metal floor
casting a sea of white reflections
while shadows stretch across the floor
from a table as the tools that rest
show wear from old age
There is no more grey hue to them
Only a brown rust that eats away
as a question runs its marathon
across my mind
What shall I put in its soul?
I look at the paint buckets near my feet
Shall I color its skin black?
Shall I color it white?
Shall I color it yellow?
What about red?
The paint brush selects its color
It paints away
giving the skin its coat of identity
Off to the left sits another table
These sexual organs sit
there physical meaning gone
as gender, and even sexuality,
have become a spiritual identity
What shall I teach it to read?
Shall I teach it religion?
Off to the right I look at the books
that sit on a table as dust collects
Perhaps it could give the soul strength of faith
but also poison it
with unbridled hatred
Maybe I should teach it politics?
No, it would not be best
It would be just another cult
to blind its vision
I regard this frame
Shall I give it life?
No, it is best to start over
I slide my stool over
ready for the next frame
as I know the last one
will only know division
but will never know true humanity
as it will never see the individual