It Came from a Monkey

Oh, the war that stretched
for eons, that saw the fall
of God and the rise of kings,
this audience of stars has seen it all:

That I could stand on a
Sahara Sphere and wail
without echo, scratch soil and
find naught but more soil,
see shadows long outstretch mountains
and cry is an idea that imagination
has not the moxie to create.
To pace is one's place in this
wasteland of space, stones stumble
feet, crashes rock earth,
stone cold body meets stone cold dirt.

Please
just let me fall for a while -
into a quandry of mindlessness
and inextricable knowledge of my mistakes, a master
of miscreants and the abhorrent,
a fool at best in this quiet turmoil,
desperate and clinging to gravity -
and suffer.

In the long run
we won the war of wars and
were destroyed, cattle slaughtered for
less than meat and fed upon
by the unthinking and superior, gods of gods,
encompassing, breathing vitriol and saliva,
masters of miscreants and alive;
and we were at peace.
And we couldn't handle it.
Such is the manner of kings of kings
who dominate domains in pompous
preponderance, usurpers fearing usurpation,
quivering pale in pensive imagination
to placate and eradicate, make bare
soil which refuses to genuflect,
fingers bleeding in grips meant to choke,
the unyeilding holiness of their firey rampage.
And holy they were -

fires churn greatness, emperors of emperors
turn and spit out gods, glorified
in the unity power brings,
but the lamb is still a sheep,
it follows ignorant;
innocence is the blissful supposition
of the defenseless.

With only the power to wreak,
ego our unifier, unity a torch,
masters of monsters, masters of the void,
we quantified our rage, gods and creators
with the right to destroy.

Please just let me fall.