My Lasting Minutes

We roam in skins that bleed and breathe,
A species clothed in nerve and need.
With iron minds and primal codes,
We stalk each other down dark roads.

A flash of teeth, a flare of thigh,
A glance exchanged, a whispered lie.
We hunt for blood, we hunt for bed—
The line is thin, the thread is red.

Some fight for sport, for power, pride,
Some kill the thing they want inside.
We build great towers, burn our past,
Then wonder why no peace can last.

We breed like beasts, yet write in stars,
Launch prayers and missiles out to Mars.
Inventing gods, then acting them,
With hands still stained from Bethlehem.

A kiss, a kill, a cry, a grin—
It loops again: the flesh, the sin.
We love, we lie, we rage, we rot—
Each meat machine… a living plot.

Still we march on, without a plan,
A mad parade called modern man.