A child seated up high,
His mother hovering not far away,
To clean messes,
Spills,
Imperfections,
Who will this baby be,
What will he do in life,
Will it be a politician,
A scientist,
A criminal,
A pastor,
How will he overcome diversity,
When will he fall in love,
Millions of possibilities,
Unlimited chances,
Not one the exact same,
Not one with an identical outcome,
Will he live to a ripe old age and pass on surrounded by family and friends,
Or will he die by another's hands in the indecisive war of right and wrong,
Or will he turn his own life off when the world becomes to heavy,
One individual life could be worthless,
Not deserving a second glance,
A small bulletin in an obituary,
Or can this one be special,
Could this one make all the difference?
(I know it doesn't rhyme and that bugs me but I had to write a non-rhyming poem for a creative writing class so I wrote this)
