Wednesday, February 17, 2010


For all of our Enlightenments, it’s night
Still in our consciousness, collectively,
Since we remain disposed to fight or flight,
Not having shed our animality.

We’re still the caterpillar uncocooned
And untranscended to that butterfly
We dream of being, still ripe to be lampooned
For vice and folly, no matter how we try.

Some turn to God to save us from our sins,
Denying we can do it on our own,
Claiming that as we try, the Devil grins,
But what if there’s no God and we’re alone?

We’ll either find it in ourselves to rise
Or, all too soon, we’ll wreak our own demise.