Robots

Best read to the Skepta-big instrumental
Written a while back so I'm still not quite what my trail of thought was. 



what exactly is life ,

a picture already painted,

or a blank canvas awaiting our actions complete it 

do we choose our lefts,rights. . .rights, wrongs,

or  were they already chosen for us 

long before our parent's grandparents ever thought of having our parent's parents

are we all controlled by he that dwells above us,

are we all just on straight,direct roads leading to our so called final moments

hills,turns,traffic lights absent

maybe we're really the supreme controllers of our fates 

or obliviously,only, decide the routes we take to get to them

am i really writing this poem out of sheer coincidence aided by free will

or merely fulfilling prophesies long established

maybe were all just robots,

drunk with science

attempting to create our own robots

who through development may one day become intelligent  enough to create their own robots

and those robots create others

and those , others, and this go on and on and on until one day

a lone clock skips a second. . . .  or the right jigsaw piece is forced yet doesn't fit,

or our feet start doing what our hands should be doing and our hands . . . our feet

Were all slaves to set rules , as are our THOUGHTS 

We just THINK, we're free