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Old Gods form bad habits
Old Gods form bad habits
Storm rumblings - clouds thicken, soup
stirred by the spoon
of invisible wind, cold air felt
against the flesh, ions warn as if the wind
has intentions - became
the grumblings of Beings unseen, heard
too often by men cowering in caves
or beneath wet, rippling leaves.
Naked as night, huddled for warmth,
reminiscent still in hugs - a man’s
need to be touched to establish calm - eyes
as bright as stars that held a message
Erectus could not fathom, locked
upon the ground, hounded
by creatures, at the mercy of forces
that manifested without warning, severed
limb from home, mother from son.
In the night, before fire became a friend,
shivering souls created Gods to shape the world,
made furless, fading beasts bold enough to hunt,
to teach children ways to fashion spears and myths
into weapons more lasting than any volcanic eruption.
Now, the time is at hand, though, when
what we have become
must leave behind what we were,
find the courage to lay aside the weapons
that once defined us; put them down
and embrace this universe as sentient beings:
Understand even those forces we cannot hold
we have begun to employ, should do so
without old fears sharpened into points
by minds as soft and dangerous as flint
mined with hands already leaving the jungle.
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