Fruit

Life is just
The fruiting body
Of existence...

We are all tubers
Of the same mycelium

We're merely protruding
Above the tar pit
Of our ancestors

Just curious cicadas
Climbing the tree of life...

Our souls have spent eternity
Underground
We erupt
Like smug crude oil
From a geyser of greediness

Like some premium grade
High octane diesel
That costs 30p per litre more
Than the forms
That have come before us

We are anything
But humble...

Nothing more
Than a spectacular splattering
Of atoms...

But we're only
Broken dreams
And dark matter...

A slight ripple
In the cosmos

A stitch
In the seams of nothingness

But what does it matter?

We exist!