November 1978

 

We are man

We have worked our way up

From dull-frightened eyes in a hole

To a towering pedestal of glory

And shame

 

We have conquered all

As even the atom bends to our will

We call ourselves "gods"

And the bitter-sweet drink of glory

Goes to our heads

We become drunk in our achievements

And power courses our veins

We could have made ourselves

And the world we live in

Surely this crown of glory will rest forever on our heads

 

Yea, even as thou speakest thy time runneth out

And the words of thy mouth grow stale

 

June 10, 2004 ~ If I were to put a title to

this poem today, it would be Sarcasm