To each his own is just a lie
we are homogeneous to a fault,
slavishly in frantic sync
leaving nothing to exalt.
For all our apparent differences
so little separates,
necessitating the manufacture
of societies' earthquakes.
We shout and scamper in pursuit
of identities and pride,
then recognize in horror
what we have decried.
Pledging troth to stated goal
that leaves us no recourse
and finally then discover;
we've been beating a dead horse.
Kaleidoscope of purposes
drive everything asunder
to confuse and separate
leaving us to wonder.
Does it really matter
upon what we must dine
if all life’s commonality
shows us to be divine?
These contending attitudes
disastrously set in granite
insure the certain extinction
of humankind on this planet.
by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved
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