For I am made of more

For I am made of more
A plethora of concepts and happenings
The roads leading to here were innumerable
The taste that finally emanated, too complex
A unique creation of of history
A permutation of time and space

Do not judge my actions by one point
Do not reduce me to a finite origin
Do not, I insist, streamline the path I have tread
For it is many
The varied roads have led here
And this here, is only just a part of many

For in the wake of birth, the lanes were set
And In the passing of noon, they crossed over many
That the loot they amassed, may speak the tale of the times
And the scars, my allegory of battles
Why then would I be of finite origin, and why is my tale, causal?
Is not this complexity evident?

Therefore I ask thee
Do not ascribe this sight to one past, nor commend this life to one road
For its path has been many; and its road, a mob
Every stain has a tale; and every scar, a story
Every smell, a place; and every callus, a struggle
For I am made of more


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