Inheritance–a poem

From the womb—Broken
Down the street—Broken
On the job—Broken
Push the pen—Broken
Deep in sleep—Broken
Lost in thought—Broken
Fixed in time—Broken
Sound of mind—Broken
With no hope of truly fixing

Oh Adam, oh Eve, such decision, such dichotomy;
you were made to be played by a gambling God,
decisive chips in a timeless game.
From clay with doubt, no juries out;
pride—the result by name.

From the bed—Broken
To the moon—Broken
On the tube—Broken
Share the wealth—Broken
Eyes wide open—Broken
Mind astray—Broken
On this stool—Broken
At my best—Broken
With no hope of truly fixing