Reflection beneath the skin.
The first person view we hold let’s us see our hands and all it has
accomplished. From the sand it was built and the risks we took.
A certain man could listen to his voice and all that jazz… maybe proud.
Another will reflect upon his reflection and feel lacking in muscle.
These thoughts are seldom tussled with to go beneath the skin.
Though subconsciously we hear the ticking clock and we fear that the alarm was set.
Though, this knowledge is only a thought away… we tend to forget.
Those who go to deep will sink so far, or so
they say. Then what is this life more than the changing of the guard?
Big Bens and little men taking risks after risk to grapple for their
Seldom do they ask who provides their breath, food.
And aquatic needs till end.
A chemical process of course- a quick response given by the brainless lab coat and his biased lens.
All knowing? Maybe not. Looking at his hands… to the ticking clock.
Another can look back and smile at his mansions and sport cars. His bid he placed for a great life and so he did.
Green paper and crystal clear diamonds… and of course that little sip of water. Then he also faces the common cold
that consumes us all. Maybe near his end if the alarm rings long… his thoughts will deepen, but just maybe or not at all.
No blanket brings the comfort to a restless soul like that old green one. Yet the dying body feels the cold like no other.
Even the family man can look at his home and think about generations to come.
Just bodies of loved ones beneath the dirt. Soon they will all be gathered.
Though this might seem dumb.
It would be as if nothing mattered.
But things do matter, they adamantly demand. Survival of our species and the existence of our kind. It’s seems to me that we are respecters of certain molecules of a higher order. We have contributed so much to this pretty planet.
Hero shim… ah, have we forgotten? So torn. Nag and shake the drinks for we live for now don’t we?
What a lovely view of this higher organism… surviving and thriving.
Looking these days at pixels on a screen… lifeless mind you.
A slave to the dead.
There are other views… a man in a big hat and many tics sucking the blood out of the free market.
Both kissing babies… one for government and another for Rome.
Terrorists follow their hearts and so do the poli prayers. Hoping that their dueling gods can save this man.
Save from what?
The most important question no one brings up.
Thou dare not point to the homo sapiens. Even the greenies say otherwise, but they only scratch
the surface of their heads and bellies of the cuter arrangement of molecules.
Save us from our own random chemical reactions of course.
There is another view that discusses the nature of things and man.
This is a sinking ship, but it can be pretty sometimes.
The core of this organism is corrupted. Even passed on.
It’s more than genetics, you know?
That’s why the magnitude of the God Man that died for this corrupted hearts
is so profound.
That a King should suffer for less than an ant.
However, this is only a vessel and the road to redemption is as
simple as climbing on the lifeboat.
The mocking molecules will go down in the abyss,
but you, oh Christians will sing in your bliss.