God's Recycling

It's funny how history repeats itself
Like a well oiled machine
Does make one wonder
Are we living lives already deceased?

We like to think of ourselves as unique

Different in the best possible way

Whether it be in shape

Size, or color

But, most important of all

In the stuff we are made of

What makes us who we are?

Are we just receptacles for our manufacturers?

Filling us with as much of themselves

As they think will fill an empty vessel

Till we retain so much of them
And so little of ourselves

Making us vulnerable to the toxicity

Of their unjust world

That we are not who
Or, what we were meant to be

An abnormality in our DNA

What once was a blessing
Is nothing more
Than recycled human beings