Ant Farm

Ant Farm

A Poem by Fabian G. Franklin

 

Life.

What is life?

I've wondered the same thing over

and over again;

standing over bassinettes

standing over coffins

 

Almost sixty years in

and I wonder again

About a theory a fellow had

who once believed we might all be

simply God's ant farm

 

We are tucked away safe

in our beds at night;

go to sleep dreaming,

wake up believing, we are free

But imprisoned in our own little

warlike, slave to industry, world

 

His was a cynical view

It failed to mention beauty

or the awe of appreciation

that bends the knee to worship

and stirs the heart to sacrifice

 

It spoke not to the magic

taking place all around us

And dared not dip its finger

in the stormy, salty, sea of tears

cried for love and loss

 

Is there meaning to the cost?

Can order be found in chaos?

An ant farm has order;

Jobs to do, rank and file

and even a sort of government

but the ants never rest

 

They never love other ants

Too burdened by their toil

Too weary from building

Something important, something real

Ants never feel

Accomplished

 

Some would have us squirming,

writhing beneath the magnifying glass

of a vindictive, sadistic, childlike god

While he shines his light on us

simply to destroy us

 

That isn't the lesson taught by flowers;

sung by trees in the wind,

whispered by the tides,

roared by the waves and

painted by the setting sun

 

The lesson there is love

It shows a careful concern

for enlightening the soul

Beauty pours from the earth

like a brilliant blue pearl for

passengers in first class

 

Welcome to this world

all you little ones who will ever

wish upon a star or

sail upon a cloud in dreams

of princesses, maidens,

knights and dragons

God bless your journey

 

When this journey is finished

God speed your bright return

enlightened by love; made sure by worth

Treasured for all your pain and sorrow

Like flowers watered by the rain

Until the meek inherit the earth

 

Most of all, I wonder again

Insects crawling beneath the glass

Tunneling to their graves

Digging deeper in sand

How could one feel

so trapped and unreal?

While observing the world

like a man?

© 2019 Fabian G. Franklin


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Added on June 11, 2019
Last Updated on June 11, 2019

Author

Fabian G. Franklin
Fabian G. Franklin

Boone, NC



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