Iatrophobia

How do you tell a doctor that
You don’t care if you live or you die?
How do you tell someone
So afraid of death, who’s purpose is
Just to prolong lives
That longevity is not the driving force
Behind what you do
That living longer is not why you do it.

How do you tell a doctor that
You disagree with what they do
That they’re just playing god
Deciding what’s good for you
And tampering with nature
And tempering your free will,
How do you tell someone so hell-bent on doing good
That what they’re doing is bad?

How do you tell a doctor that
They’re arrogance goes beyond
Pride of a job well done,
Pride for their charity and altruism,
That they now lack the most fundamental
Human feelings, that they see us
As no more than their quarry.
How do you tell someone, anyone,
That they are evil, obsolete, mindless,
Pointless?

More importantly,
Will you believe it?
When you are sick and dying
And pain wracks your body
Will you give in and make amends?
Or will you just let it run its course
Knowing that if its time
Then it is time
And you won’t let no damn
Hindu in a lab coat
Be your god.

One World

One event seen twenty times
Is twenty memories in twenty minds
Of things not happening the way that they say
Cuz half of them weren’t there anyways.

It was misrecollected and blown out of proportion
A victim of their cerebral distortion
Reality warped whether they knew it or not
Folded and molded to fit their own thoughts.

The world breaks down and their heads reassemble
The fragmented bits until it resembles
A semblance of the world that they knew
With tiny touches they each misconstrue.

They say frame of reference or personal preference
Cautious and trite, it’s done out of deference,
Too wary to doubt that it happened that way,
Even though you can't trust the things that they say.