Chrysalis
There are those
among us who wait
with impatience
for the world
to begin.
They feel buried already
with ubiquitous artifacts
and a few quaint cosmologies
some of them surfaced and windblown
bare bones to the sun.
They have waited
but the world has not begun,
nor will it begin
instead is daily deferred
& cannot.
Barely emerging, we turn
and retire
part way within
small gods
and ideas of self
to create
in furious alchemy
to worship, to fear
and to bind.
A face worn by a man
must be worn by a nation,
in our great numbers
each of us small and alone.
On the long bridge
from matter to spirit
from ape to god
from one person to another
all behind is destroyed
all ahead is uncertain.
Might as well step up and claim
the mantle of our angelhood now:
In a primitive century,
it's the whole house of cards.