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Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Thus Spake the Little Ant

What are we
But mere blood vessels
In the veins of consciousness
Running errands
From the heart to the toes
Getting dirty, then cleaning up
Much like Sisyphus,
Only we imagine -
Devising little ball games,
(Or are we part of the ball game?)
To keep us occupied
On our trek up and down
Mere lubricants
Keeping the wheels turning
So the giant machinery doesn't fail
Insignificant by ourselves,
Invaluable as one
And yet we kill each other,
Living in the strange illusion
Called the self
We're at war with ourselves,
Destroying our strength
And there's only so much
That poetry can help
There's a storm on the outside,
And we're letting it in,
Turning ourselves out, crumbling
With our bombs and our shells
And our lies and our thefts
The good life is simple,
Much more than you think
As you run around clueless,
All you need is to blink
And break the hypnosis that
Makes you drift through
This miracle called life...