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.

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