Human Art

There is an art to being human And we are all horrid forgeries Hollow, pretending at goodness Rabid with the illusion of stillness Inhuman, All There is an art to being human And we are colorless copies Pretenders to the throne Usurpers of love and beauty Showing our alms in public To mask our private vanities and shallowness Inhuman, All There is an art to being human And we are flat, heartless Senders of prayers and heartfelt wishes Condolences and sympathies While the frail and dying choke on sawdust And the greed of corporations Determines who lives and who dies Inhuman, All There is an art to being human And we can barely hold the brush Raging against pretend differences Pleading for unity While those who hold the reigns Profit, plunder, and divide Inhuman, All There is an art to being human And we paint in one monotonous color Missing the gloriousness of the Reds and Greens We paint muted blacks and blues Perfect in our blandness Slaves to conformity Inhuman, All There is an art to being human And we are fading lines on the canvas of time Accepting average We have become average A small blemish on the face of And immense eternity Soon to be erased Forgotten, All