A Question of Ethics

A Question of Ethics

Oh sweet sin!

Are you truly wrong,

where is it written time shant be gone?

To tattoo my heart, liver and lungs.

Yet what of the man, that wishes for death,

its it truly cruel to put such wishes to rest?

How can they know, the waves of my mind.

This humble cerebrum is beating and pinning.

Do not say it’s a young child’s whining.

For my bones are older, my hands are colder.

Why should they hate me, for choices I make?

Said choices affect them as much as cooking a steak.

To question my motives is a worthy pursuit.

To question my ignorance, it seems a bit rude.

And will any answer truly suffice.

Or is the goal simply my strife.

If so, then why not threaten my life?

Do they hate me or love me,

does what I do,

truly define me,

am I any more to you?

And what of me, do I matter at all?

Or shall I be mocked until time, kills us all.

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Comments 1 comment

Faith Reaper profile image

Faith Reaper 3 years ago from southern USA

Oh, very cool . . . the title grabbed me, as I work in "ethics" as I am a paralegal in real life in a state government office, where we attempt to make sure that public officials and public employees at the city, county and state levels of government do not use their public positions for their own personal gain ----and arduous task to say the least :)

However, I know that is not what you are writing of here. Very profound poem here dearest Stolas!

I am voting up ++++ and will return to share

God bless, Faith Reaper

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