Yet

Yet

 

Hey!  You stole my genes!

Well, give them back!

I can see them, you know.

There they are, just sitting in a test tube,

Waiting to be injected into some other poor unsuspecting soul.

 

He won't even be real.

Oh sure, he's real enough,

Flesh and bone and all that bit.

But he won't have a single original though inside his empty head

Or movement within his frail body.

 

Because he was, is, and always will be

A Copy.

Not even good enough to name,

Just numbered and wheeled from room to room,

Test after test, needle after needle.

 

And at the end of the day, what have we learned?

When even we have become reproducible en masse by our own actions,

By our own hand, we, the super-intelligent, nearly invincible Rulers of the Earth

Have made ourselves disposable.

 

Human life no longer holds awe and wonder

Because with the right knowledge and conditions,

We'll just make more.

Consumerism at its best. 

Or worst.

 

Designer babies and uber-expensive personalized drug prescriptions rule the world now.

The costs drive classes apart, pushing the rift between haves and have-nots wider and wider

With every needle drawn.

 

It's a good thing we don't live in a world like that.

 

Yet.