Instinct

Precariously balanced On slender threads Of meaning and hope, We restlessly Unfold From one moment Into the next, Like a spider spinning Its clever web; Here, on this blue speck Tickled by the raging sun, We ceaselessly invent And reinvent ourselves, Weaving comforting dreams From the silk of failure; With a semblance of logic We proclaim our freedom, Demand our just rewards; We love We squander We hate-- We immortalize The dead; Though mere fledglings In the eye Of the cockroach, Newborns In the quaking shadow Of Tyrannosaurus Rex, We revel in our youthful folly, And project ourselves Toward the farthest stars; Impelled by some strange immutable force, We plan, we build, We defy astronomical odds-- While slowly from the unimagined distance The final darkness Comes.