Single file they come, torches in hand
wandering aimfully to torture what they don't understand,
a pitiful look beneath the skins of men,
led astray by their own sin,

"keep your eyes fix'd to north!" grumbled one,
perhaps one stops to think, we're all only parts,
of who we've seen, what's been felt, 
the amalgam of others unintentional collaboration,

still they charge, like vikings to the shore,
seeking the soul of what is most abhor'd,
towers of babel were built of such things,
only to be dashed against rocks by the waves,

"destiny, destiny, no escaping, that's for me!" 
the door is hit by a shockwave of humane hatred,
flames spilling, staining, confessing,
"what shall we do with ourselves post-mortem?"

disgust, disgrace, dancing on bones,
set in place by one playing God,
but alas, aren't we, inside, a reaction,
to genetics and realization?

instead of hunting the physical manifestation,
the embodyment of our own selves,
shall we instead, in fact, 
connect the inside out?