Dinner                                                      (January 23, 2007)

How far my species has come
and how hard my forefathers toiled
that I might sit here noting
the dissatisfaction I feel with my life.

How would I explain to my predecessors
the lack of hard work and the absence of bold drive
that has made up my years?

There has been some time spent reading and thinking
and writing bad poetry,
and little else.

This, after ancestors brought down mastodons,
outran lions, outthought Neanderthal
and Cro-Magnon competitors, developed civilizations
and survived while countless others did not.

Now I sit and pout,
seek out some motivation,
search for meaning.
In a different day I would have been sacrificed
and eaten.
Poetry

Home
Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

1