Too complex

It is too complex,

How genetic tapestry weaves it’s web,

Sowing the seeds for the flower bed,

or are they roses made of thorns?

prickling the thin papery skin of every individual born,

raised in castles built and guarded by swords,

metaphorically speaking of course,

the power of words,

So as we enter the tempest,

and fall face first into crevices,

Swept under the rug of the naked eye,

hooded and blind,

Still we rise,

Whether the pitfalls have been recognised,

is not a promise we may well have been compromised,

thrown to the wolves and left out in the cold to die,

I can only say so much and that is why,

in this storyline anything can pass us by,

Faatima

 

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