It

It whistles through life
Whips between parting couples
Interrupting conversation.

It lays down commandment
Carved in stone
Presiding over choice.

It demolishes buildings
Stretches across oceans
Invading distant continents.

It permeates the air
Congeals within the mind
Growing to detrimental magnitude.

It is absorbed as oxygen
Inflaming the lungs
Hindering breath.

It thinks as a rational being
Spreading thought
Creating preconceived conception.

It inflicts vengeance,
Malicious at the core
Roaming as a poltergeist.

It is communicable
In the ear, out the mouth
Stopping at nothing and no one.

It is inescapable
Like a plague comes in a cloud
Settling on civilization.

It is in, on, around
Everyone
Leaving none untouched.

It is man-made.
It is the expected.
It is society.

*a poem in response to Souls Belated by Edith Wharton