Equality

The world is made of many thorns and sharp edges
as you stroll to grope for your own seat to perch.
Just consumed in the male's quest for a place to boast,
to feel that rush of glory kiss the veins and heart
and make that spot a throne even in middle of nowhere.

But life has its porcelain truths to humble
when the mind swells too much with ego,
forced to stand just another sum of bone and flesh
instead of as a little god who deserves to be worshipped.

That’s why the sign always reads, “men,”
never man, or enter the greatness,
because by deeds and labor we might feel so special,
yet quickly are forced to face the truth,
sometimes even the hero is just a zipper away
from having to leave behind a mark,
which will not last after he has gone.

In the silence if alone the thoughts will accumulate,
exhales will mask the moment of equality
of that rendezvous with being imperfect,
which has its power to remind
how we are mere mortals after all.

Meanwhile for some it is the time,
a few seconds of contemplation,
where the graffiti of arrogance is invented
then written by the tongue later
on the minds of those encountered
so it takes this simple time of spilling juices,
always turning it into a might clash of strength and will
that is only true when there were no witnesses
unto the facts that have been stretched out of shape.