Death of Humanity

 

A frame sits in front of me

Its bones are bare

save for its muscles

its nerves

its organs

 

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