The balance is one to nurture.

The balance is one to nurture.
The inside compass tips the scale
towards our insignificant survival
but it is faced eyes locked,
with jets of heat exhaled,
and pointy horns ahead
digging our hooves on the sand.

As if we could overpower nature.

In its indifference it laughs.
Earth shaped by volcanoes,
and the drifting land and seas,
carved by the feet of dinosaurs,
embraced by the roots of trees,
are but a dot on the cosmos.
The secrets of their years in rings
are but a tick of the clock.

As if nature need us.

It will draw a new path
grow new pets and sleep
an infant's game.

We on the other hand,
need the measure of the grain,
can't breath with less oxygen,
would burn with one degree more
and freeze with a single less.
We are the center of this mess
but we also own its consequence.

"Stars cannot shine without darkness"
is romance of fiction,
and not the reason they parade
thousands light-years away.
We are the ones that cannot
gaze into their bright eyes
during our specific day
or point at when they shy behind
the shade of our burning sun.
Wonder, would they mind
if we were to be blind?
or would we alone complain
our starless turn of days?

We for ourselves must maintain
our advantage in the game,
listen to the rumors inside the brain
built in chips of evolutionary gain,
so we don't become the fossils
getting brushed off layers of soils
by historian pawns of a new board
making assumptions over today.