A Constitution of Morals

What makes you, friend?

Is it your body?

The one you need to breath

The air of oak trees

With your arms like branches

And fingers of twigs

That you count your usesless coins

Your money does not make you, friend

Not how much you splurge

It is not the beginning

Nor the end

Of what you can be

Are you what you see?

A reflection of the world

A vision of the present

Too many people are

Carbon copies

Not diamonds

So what?

Your knowledge?

Your education?

Just what did those 'teachers' tell you?

And of the words they weave

A feast of lies for the naive mind

Writers of the worst kind of fiction

Do not let their words posion you

Do not let them make you

It is your constitution of morals that makes you

That saves you

It's the line you draw

That defines you

There are two reason why a person won't do something

They can't

Or

They won't

What won't you do?