Rats in a line,
All ordered and filed,
For miles, they stretch,
Each tail to a head,
Faces calm and well-worked,
No scuffle, noise or protest,
No words, because they know none;
Every few moments they shuffle,
Further down the dirt path,
Approaching a pit,
A pit, very wide,
The width, of course, not their concern,
The leader stops
Before the pit’s mouth, staring into blackness;
With a thought, he falls, silently,
Carelessly,
Wind rushing between his legs,
Whisking itself up against his eyes, ears, and lips,
In fantastic flight
Into uncertainty
A new leader takes hold,
This one, shaken;
He stares into the abyss,
But soon realizes the
Horrifyingly insipid Earth surrounding him
Soulless branch after branch,
Teeming with filth and despair,
Rays of sun dampened by a
Caustic fog
A nudge from his successor
Forces him out of his
Epiphanous trance,
And into the well of nothingness,
Squealing
Who falls the fastest,
The philosopher or the realist?
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC