disrupter
08-25-2009, 06:25 AM
The Vanity of the Stars,
With the minds of microbes,
not an easy reconcilliation.
And the fact that idiots like you have survived in superior numbers,
challenges the very notion of intellect as a 'superior' trait.
Likely it is the false presumption ie. arrogance-of-intellect, egotism, that is evolution's 'superior' trait,
but it is the occasional, accident of actual intellects that has the whispered prayer of long survival of this species.
It is the silent, unsung hero of us all, the struggling wounded ego, seeded & freed with insatiable curiosity.
And it is the nurturing guardian's breast, who believes their child is the greatest of all time, threaded through generations long past,
That lift & launch the lame eagle's wings aloft to soar & see,
With only the occasional weird bird who can comprehend a bit of it.
We ride the sighing last desperate gasps of corpse's,
let their unguessable sacrifices not have been in vain.
We will try & live what they saw.
Do them proud, do them beautiful.
We will live the dream they could only see, yet never touch.
And we, in turn, shall have the dreams of their dreams.
We are but passing mayflies,
let us be mayflies that confer & bestow beauty where we pass.
It is our gift to ourselves.
If we were brilliant, we would not have left such a wake of cascading destruction behind us.
With the minds of microbes,
not an easy reconcilliation.
And the fact that idiots like you have survived in superior numbers,
challenges the very notion of intellect as a 'superior' trait.
Likely it is the false presumption ie. arrogance-of-intellect, egotism, that is evolution's 'superior' trait,
but it is the occasional, accident of actual intellects that has the whispered prayer of long survival of this species.
It is the silent, unsung hero of us all, the struggling wounded ego, seeded & freed with insatiable curiosity.
And it is the nurturing guardian's breast, who believes their child is the greatest of all time, threaded through generations long past,
That lift & launch the lame eagle's wings aloft to soar & see,
With only the occasional weird bird who can comprehend a bit of it.
We ride the sighing last desperate gasps of corpse's,
let their unguessable sacrifices not have been in vain.
We will try & live what they saw.
Do them proud, do them beautiful.
We will live the dream they could only see, yet never touch.
And we, in turn, shall have the dreams of their dreams.
We are but passing mayflies,
let us be mayflies that confer & bestow beauty where we pass.
It is our gift to ourselves.
If we were brilliant, we would not have left such a wake of cascading destruction behind us.