The cliche of the vastness of uncharted space
all but a dot on a dot on a dot,
Earthen crumb on an endless void mantle piece
a cozy bluish white paradisiac spot.
Focus lens then upon that azure globe
and find the dots so many — ever-growing numerous,
The lot of us make here an abode
though live a life beautiful onerous.
Periscope — stories speak of Gods who built
everything the universe consciously offers,
What are we but wee mortals, wilt
grow but die like the sunrise set.
Small is the word that describes us most,
As compared to the grand universal board,
Yet few dare destinies that of a God’s worth
though in death we are naked: buried and sored.
Climb high we try so hard for the skies,
soar — try not to plummet and fall,
challenge the titans to lord over these lands
the puny trying to be gigantic tall.
Our towers raised from the ground
as we raze the thought of ants,
In sheer imagination, we are unbound
to ascend up higher than possibly can.
Mere beings of carbon dust and ash
for you and I are but humble man,
surely this is the majority dream
but I am but of the lesser few
who believe there is more to sow.
“Blinding ignorance does mislead us.
O! Wretched mortals, open your eyes”
L.D.V
About the Creator
Andrés Ibarra
Venezuelan.
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