Surely we are proud, O proud and mighty,
haughty monkeys, barely from the plains!
The brachiated arm that threw the stone
now pulls the lever, wields the gun aloft;
Opposable the thumb that thrummed the string
now, upon a trigger, poised to kill;
The mind that opened wide the eye to see
the rumble of the beast on the savannah,
Now contemplates the atom or the germ,
a twisted helix now the herald of our doom.
The mystery of life, of death, its sweep
the interval between barely a breath;
We’ve hardly ceased the lashing of our tails
scraped the mud from these long wandering feet,
While in our hands we hold the burning reins,
four eager mighty horsemen made
of blood and steel and rage.
Pain is the song that burns.
The struggle of our tale can now continue,
until our truth be told we cannot rest.
A Brief Lesson
WE are burdened here beneath the mighty towers we have made, bowed beneath the weight of expectations, the endless search for worth and worthiness. So heavy are the comforts we have heaped upon ourselves, tending them consumes our days and years. The judgments we have made, the absolutes, stone-cold imperatives that trail behind us like a mantle wrapped about; we soon collapse encumbered by our very selves, entangled by the chains of these mad hoards. What treasures we have gathered up and carried from our bondage, freely handed over by the masters who enslaved us! We are truly made of mud and straw. What flames may come and make us into pyres just to burn these needless things, turn our warring weary dreams to fields of rolling wheat.
What shouts and trumpets soon will ring
to raze these fair walls surely to the ground?
Step by step we march this quiet desert ‘round;
To look for truth among the endless sands.
O dreadful silence, here among these ghostly tents,
Where once we wandered endlessly
‘til none recalled who still had breath.
(c) 2016 Karekin M Yarian, BSG