We reap before we sow,
But they weep before they grow:
Know most about the world –
They feed from wise wombs
In nourished isolation.
Meanwhile We –
The foolish, the optimists, the human,
Expect smoke to arise from
A collection of well-meaning twigs.
We distort the nature of things
As though order was an imposter.
The arrow of time points forwards
And we sit ahead of it,
Setting the clock so it will indulge
Our nostalgic tendencies.
And when the alarm never rings,
Our tears roll like the tide,
Trying to move pain toward beauty,
Drowning themselves to reflect the moon,
Inspired by the sun
Only to be evaporated by it.
Our illogical ambitions
Suppress our sense of direction.
The route to simplicity is too complex,
So we walk the well-trodden path to confusion.