Instinct
Precariously balanced
On slender threads
Of meaning and hope,
We restlessly
Unfold
From one moment
Into the next,
Like a spider spinning
Its clever web;
Here, on this blue speck
Tickled by the raging sun,
We ceaselessly invent
And reinvent ourselves,
Weaving comforting dreams
From the silk of failure;
With a semblance of logic
We proclaim our freedom,
Demand our just rewards;
We love
We squander
We hate--
We immortalize
The dead;
Though mere fledglings
In the eye
Of the cockroach,
Newborns
In the quaking shadow
Of Tyrannosaurus Rex,
We revel in our youthful folly,
And project ourselves
Toward the farthest stars;
Impelled by some strange immutable force,
We plan, we build,
We defy astronomical odds--
While slowly from the unimagined distance
The final darkness
Comes.
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Dark poems
Intelligence is like a river, the deeper it is the quieter it flows.
Ayon Rose Avorymoon
Community Member |
Intelligence is like a river, the deeper it is the quieter it flows.