gene machines

foraging, we slave away
collecting all our feeble burdens
it’s a distraction
occupy the mind, you
make it simple to design
the maze we run to find the prize
to find our eyes
lost within, we are machines
just more gene machines
kept inside, left without
no satisfaction for the patient
no more gifts from the other side
just what we see, what we be
just another gene machine

Published by bernardsbarnes

Writer. Artist. Performer. A little boy dreaming of the stars.

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