Walking out to see the land
I wonder how it began.
The sun burns magnesium blacken souls
Brittle leaves dry scaly cold.
Atoms move slowly taking toll
Bitter with absent knowledge
Being hordes forever old.
Perceptions touch and electric nodes
Broken, crumbling, abductive fear.
Hume churning blackened holes
Kant with Paine at Nietsche’s glare
My, my, what to bear!
What does it matter if we are here?
Spiders weave their noble webs.
Birds sing and craft their little beds.
Clearly they are playing another game instead.