The Balance Is One To Nurture

The balance is one to nurture. The inside compass tips the scale towards our insignificant survival but it is faced eyes locked, with jets of heat exhaled, and pointy horns ahead digging our hooves on the sand. As if we could overpower nature. In its indifference it laughs. Earth shaped by volcanoes, and the drifting land and seas, carved by the feet of dinosaurs, embraced by the roots of trees, are but a dot on the cosmos. The secrets of their years in rings are but a tick of the clock. As if nature need us. It will draw a new path grow new pets and sleep an infant's game. We on the other hand, need the measure of the grain, can't breath with less oxygen, would burn with one degree more and freeze with a single less. We are the center of this mess but we also own its consequence. "Stars cannot shine without darkness" is romance of fiction, and not the reason they parade thousands light-years away. We are the ones that cannot gaze into their bright eyes during our specific day or point at when they shy behind the shade of our burning sun. Wonder, would they mind if we were to be blind? or would we alone complain our starless turn of days? We for ourselves must maintain our advantage in the game, listen to the rumors inside the brain built in chips of evolutionary gain, so we don't become the fossils getting brushed off layers of soils by historian pawns of a new board making assumptions over today.