Atavists

My sort scoffs at progress. We should.
Mankind doesn't move ahead. It spirals
Inward, like a cloud of dust in space
Becoming solid, like a clot of single
Cells becoming, first, a jellyfish, and
Then another, larger thing, within which
None can know itself. Each follows
Orders, does its job, and is, as are you
With that phone, a piece forever,
Not a whole. This isn't progress
To my sort. We spiral, unattached,
Alone, as random bits of DNA,
As viruses which live within this body
Of which you're a part, obtaining what
We must to live, and wrecking what you
Thought you wanted, still somewhat
Autonomous and, as such, ancient,
Proof that mankind doesn't move
Ahead.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 58 times
Written on 2014-02-09 at 00:33

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text