"We Who Are Aware"


Within our pulsing sphere of warm, gray, flesh,
A ceaseless ebb and flow of words and shapes
And forms breaks upon the misty shores of
Our awareness, and brings to all who bear
The hallowed blood of Adam, a free and
Unique essence, called soul. Our lives are filled
From cradle to grave with the mortal task
Of finding a frame and structure for these
Swirling thoughts, and thus is born our deep and
Burning drive for knowledge, for entertainment,
For art. Yet this precious gift which falls to
All in unequal share, sparks amid our
Hearts the fires of greed and hate and lust as
Well, and all throughout the ages in the
Pages of history it is clearly
Seen as part of both the purest and the
Vilest acts of man. And so we live our
Numbered days with this golden burden which
Is truly ours alone. The brutes that tread
This world with us have not the width nor breadth
Of sense that stirs within the sentient mind
Of man. They do not grow ambitious for
A speck of gold, nor strive to paint their pictures
On the wall. The trees that live a span of
Years that puts to shame our brief and fleeting
Time, stand mute, and dumb, and dreamless. The flowers,
In their brightest show of color and scent
Have not the splendor found within the dimmest
Thought that twigs at the mind of a babe.
And the ever endless universe, in
All its gleam and glory, shines a light unto
An emptiness until it comes to rest
Upon the sight and soul of we who are aware.