Condition

We came out from the trees, lived among stones
traveled down rivers
to oceans so vast they seemed to drown the world

What are we?

We tamed the Sun and called it fire
we tamed it again
and got a cloud formed like a mushroom

We built, we destroyed.
We created, we killed.

We make music and we dream dreams.
We lie, we cheat
We heal and inspire

What is this?

Sitting in the air we can watch
steel rubber-ed ants traveling grey ribbons

We make tools to carve mountains
and explore the ends of the Universe

What is it to be human?
Are we able, without similar alien intelligence, to know?

We make gods, we make demons, we worship ourselves.

Are there words to tell, music to explain
what we are?

How do you capture a consciousness seven billion live?

we are short sighted, greedy
we have vision and nerve

we harness and enslave
we set free
while we are often chained

Never satisfied
too often satiated

We live only with and among ourselves
seeking and, when we find
nervous and itchy
we move again.

Sweet dreams
dark nightmares

Warped and shaped
reality bends to our perceptions;
will it finally define us?

Reviews

[Mary]

beautifully written poetic essay of our human condition! Well done, Mark. We are quite a song of opposites, eh? What I love most about your poem is the un-preachy way you observe the "consciousness seven billion live"

[Mark]

thank you so very much Mary :)