It’s my being, the human condition.
It’s how, for me, life is experienced.
Born into. Not matter for decision.
Who I am, don’t know any difference.
Other animals sentient beings.
How they feel, … even think …, I can guess at.
And it is the case, they too have feelings.
Circumstances, at which, have distress at.
But humans supposed to have more knowledge,
More understanding, capability.
Power to determine, more fully fledged.
And aware of some sort of history.
Medically, well or ill, sane, insane.
Greed, altruism. Fight, Love. Have our brain.
The genes come through generationally.
Breed what seems like an approximation,
But another original that see.
Features alike, though, a revelation.
Of course, half the one and half another.
And that gets diluted further from there.
But something from far back may discover,
Whilst other, in the line, just disappear.
Still, must say it’s pretty remarkable
that resemblance through reproductions flowed.
Sort of ordered. Sort of anarchical.
Link traceable in the DNA code.
Passed through time, whatever physical traits.
Evolving, as with similar replace.
It is dying or dead, the outer skin.
Although we think of it as beautiful.
Have, for complexion, creams for rubbing in.
Yet the skin cells are all replaceable.
And does so, this epidermis layer.
It shedding every two to four weeks.
Each newness, we think a constant stayer,
but to dust subsides, subtle and discrete.
Below, the dermis. Red blood and nerve cells.
Former, go at four-monthly intervals.
Latter, much longer than the outer shells.
Whole process one of nature’s miracles.
With our skin cells changing regularly,
our look still pervades, recognisably.
Our brains, I’m afraid, are duplicitous.
Centre of the world, us. Insidious.
In our consciousness, we’re luminaries.
To demean ourselves is invidious,
but so is overblown view of ourselves.
Our egos making supercilious.
Imagining that all we do, excels.
Then there is deception about nature.
That we can cope with it; are beyond it.
Come through all crisis, sooner or later.
Keep on living. After death, extend it.
Think brainpower stronger than our bodies.
A thing apart, but these thoughts a cruel tease.
It is in a bubble like a balloon,
sentient existence of a person.
Sleep refreshed, its awareness to resume.
With own identity, from birth begun.
It can do remarkable trickery.
Learn and remember, and manipulate.
A godhead, all that mental energy.
Enhanced, when able to articulate.
Significant, then, the self importance.
Assertion of will; advanced confidence
And, history, life-story’s emergence,
with power that’s close to omnipotence.
Encapsulated, ‘though not forever.
An outer skin covering. Within there.
What someone can do with your head these days.
Shaved closely so that not a hair protrudes.
Skating rink, on which most miniscule plays.
Shiniest gleam only a hat excludes.
Could be for medical test or treatment.
Partial baldness, alopecia, cleaned-up.
A number one cut to fullest extent.
A smooth stroke enjoyed by the girls, with luck.
Razor must be sharp. Perfectly honed blade.
Lather, no doubt, creamy luxuriant.
Steady hand glides, completely unafraid.
Along the top and, too, the side-descents.
Outside skin, barber no doubt do his best.
Inside head, not so easily addressed.
Blissfully happy. For some, possible.
Live as though within a golden capsule.
Manage to avoid aspects that are cruel.
Not encounter any bad shape at all.
Circumstances benign and conducive.
Personalised, as though they’re exclusive.
For those less fortunate, it’s elusive;
some problem or more, becomes intrusive.
Aspiration to reach this nirvana,
intuitively knowing it is there;
were the choppy waters to be calmer,
and joy be abundant; without despair.
When look back on, it’s the best that can be.
Recognise it for what it’s worth, for me.
Some animals simply untouchable.
It is far too dangerous to get close.
They can prove I’m not indestructible.
Knock down, then around from pillar to post.
And yet they are beautiful to look at.
Colourful, dressed in natural fabric.
They can turn ugly though, and that’s a fact.
When in that mood, there’s nothing romantic.
If only they were able to be tamed,
so assured that no longer ferocious.
No threat to them, could be somehow explained.
Instead, safely, playfully precocious.
Bear, tiger, lion, wolverine, and such.
Some humans have this wild streak just as much.