To Man-The Eater

In our jungle bereft,or your zoo of laughing mock

Behind the thicket,near the brook or on the rock

Just count not our poor kindred in mere numbers

We sleep not like how your conscience slumbers

A square meal down the throat is afar from close

Waters quenched our thirst, gone are even those

All that remains are gaping wounds never to heal

With pounding cries and hopes not a wee to feel

What we dread is worse than those bullets or trap

Your follies are too mammoth to forgive or wrap

Sole soul is you who takes more than he can give

And you thinketh you shall forever and ever live

O' man our eater,a day shall come for you to cry

When the Good Lord will scorn and ask you why

Wait not till then and make this home our grave

Remember he is the master and we all his slave!

-R-

PS1: If the earth were only a few feet in diameter, floating a few feet above a field somewhere, people would come from everywhere to marvel at it. People would walk around it marveling at its big pools of water, its little pools, and the water flowing between the pools. People would marvel at the bumps on it, and the holes in it, and they would marvel at the very thin layer of gas surrounding it and the water suspended in the gas. The people would marvel at all the creatures walking around the surface of the ball and at the creatures in the water. The people would declare it sacred because it was the only one, and they would protect it so that it would not be hurt. The ball would be the greatest wonder known, and people would come to pray to it, to be healed, to gain knowledge, to know beauty, and to wonder how it could be. People would love it and defend it with their lives because they would somehow know that their lives, their own roundness, could be nothing without it. If the Earth were only a few feet in diameter-Joe Miller.


PS2:This poem is submitted for Poetry Potluck-Evolution,Environment And Survival at Jingle Poetry on April 11th 2011.