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
Copyright © Erin Cowart | Year Posted 2020
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