To a Sowbug this Room of mine is a Microcosm of the known World,
The Expanding Universe of all awareness,
The Here and Now of it's daily strife.
Tomorrow an unthought of Event,
Yesterday, a board wiped clean with Lethe's Brew.
It knows nothing of Human History,
Or the Trillions of its Kin long dead.
Geography being the Wanderings along Miles of dusty Carpet,
A Monotonous landscape to blunt the eye.
And the Girdle of Ocean that meets the land:
An Obscene Notion dreamt by fools.
The four Walls a vast Horizon into where?
For isn't the World flat?
If it could stop - and Ponder on the Nature of it all:
There's a Tungsten Filament within the Sun -
And I a God.
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Author:
Kevin Hulme (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 5th, 2026 20:15
- Comment from author about the poem: I often think how fortunate we are as the only Animal on this Earth, that knows of it's History: Geography , The Solar system, Universe. To travel to the Moon for Heavens Sake. All other Creatures: Oblivious. Now if we can only sort ourselves out.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments1
We are a different breed and we assume our uniqueness amidst it all. In this difference we in our self perceived superiority war, rape, murder, torture, canibalize, steal, lie, defile and destroy. How can such knowledge lead to such depravity?
So true. Thank you for Reading.
You are most welcome Kevin
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