On Man

 

Like tiny ants we scurry

Between skyscrapers of grass,

Peeping about - a human worker class.

Watching ourselves surpassing all limits,

Creators of structures, cultures, unimaginable wonders.

Finding God thriving within us.

 

Do we think the ant knows of it’s impending mortality?

Knows it’s destined to a life of sheer ephemerality?

Or knows it’s intricate colony

Could be squished with one move,

Finding its lifeless grave to be a boots’ deep groove?

 

With one deft move,

All could be crushed,

By a force so incomprehensible.

A giant that wreaks havoc

On beings unknowing, indefensible.

 

Do we think the ant knows of the giants above?

Knows the meaning of the boot

And its demise closing in?

Behind its minute eyes, does it panic?

Searching for reason for this underserved sin.

 

Or does it live blind?

Believing it to be king and a pinnacle,

While the giant hovers above

Like a force ineffable,

Permanently beyond its impaired understanding.

 

It is no fault of its own,

For its biology tells it it lives alone.

While forces hang ominously beyond a veil of perception,

Unable to be seen,

And so unable of conception.

 

The ant who calls itself God,

Conquering worm ends and soil clods,

Devising of exponential growth and unending expansion,

Knowing not it’s miniature scope

Or the fragility of its creation.

 

In skyscrapers we sit,

Glass glinting in the impossible.

Temples dedicated to the rational mind,

Subservient only to what it may find. 

Progress’ image.

 

And yet a question remains, one that cannot be silenced,

What will be the nature of humanity’s giant?