Time is the dreary me, making
the hunger for people a citadel
far beyond storming; my weakness
building me a nothing empire,
powerless on a windswept globe.
Passing tenants on this unheeding earth
make mock of endless universe.
At dawn we’ll promenade a moment
on tiny road through fragile city,
strutting our limitless power.
Our planet spins and circles
a curious pattern that we never see,
keeping us clinging, timid mites
barking our voices in darkness,
looking the bright starspecks unknown.
Brief pause in man’s mighty conception,
the sickly humiliation of fear
quickly forgotten in arrogant visions
that our few billion bits
will someday fill the universe.