The human condition was one of strife;
He once struggled for food, comfort, existence itself,
Fanged enemies once threatened the very life
Of the frail upright chimp, a slight elf
Amongst leering muggles.
Gaping forests hid all manner
Of vicious beast, predator, danger.
And so he was ever vigilent, a scanner
Of threats, sounds, odors; even a stranger,
Though human himself, remained trusted the least.
Darkness and the night’s chill
Had him clutching a meager shawl
Tightly around his always and still
Shivering shoulders, but that is all
Merely a collective memory now.
The human grew, not in brawn, but in brain,
And hunted those beasts — tracked lions,
Mercilessly stabbed, cut, and, yes, left slain,
Limp, and lying in grasses, crying
For life’s close.
He built all manners of tool,
Weapon, knife, spear;
And with anger, the fool,
Maimed those upon which he had gazed with fear.
The earth stained crimson in his wake.
He now resided in his keep,
Immune to snarling wolf and fox.
And yet he gazed from his home into the deep
Darkness that remained, and his fear locks
Horns with a comfort so poorly attuned.
He may have closed his eyes,
Witnessed a past spent scampering in fear,
But this, too, must be a lie,
He said; this life I hold dear,
He said, this is what must be.
That wariness once reserved
For large-mouthed creatures of the rivers,
Now was directed at himself; whether deserved
Or not, it was he who now sent shivers
Down his own spine.
He now holds domain
Over all living creatures;
He sits atop his throne, all that remain
To threaten are his own evil features.
And how frightening they are.
The human, once fraught with tribulation,
Must hide it away, store it on his mind’s shelf,
For he now lives coddled in insulation,
And his fright, he sees, rests solely in himself
And perhaps it will there stay.