We are the only species to make luxury of our ****,
While others survive we still crave one more thrill,
From that, I wonder what heights we’ve attained?
The bigger the better were the words that have reigned,
We’ve risen and triumphed by reaching evermore higher,
Yet as the towers raise so too the flames of the fire,
They’re acts of ******* I think, a necessity of our ego,
To rise above the others, on from the ashes, on we must go,
Into the woodlands where no animal makes pelts of its catch,
And in the jungle where no animal credits their kills with a patch,
They don’t pick from their bones,
Or other atrocities we so humbly condone.
They live with no thoughts, no questions, curiosity or phone,
For our curse is our blessing, a clear paradox is shown.
Yet if evolution were no bittersweet friend,
If we never learned to question the end,
If from our **** we only ate,
We’d still be on all fours, making light of our fate.