Those fall farthest who first fall up
Abigail June Bronset
Religious or litigious? Wings or things?
Godding? Maurauding?—An American’t
Need tap no judgment: where one drips, both spring.
But th’world does judge: they call us arrogant.
God, too, looks down, and finds praise for a king
Not Him. The star that darkles o'er our parent?
Upon His bruised-blue swirling, swollen hemorrhoid,
Above thirteen stripes we have diademed the Void.
This we may ask: is man mad, or just bad?
Both—he has (it is no wee mystery)
The brilliance of a drunken undergrad.
Nature, that tyrant of prehistory,
Is no better. But man, no more nomad,
Reigns tyrant now—our footprint is blistery.
With open eyes we attend this central prism:
Through two scourges we view Descendentalism.
Copyright The Descendentalist. All rights reserved.