Survival of the Fittest

The evolution of man, circa 2008.

Glory be to Neanderthal man,
oh he that beateth upon stones,
low spirit of the Levallois blades.
In our days of dark he muttered from
crudely hewn but well-loved graves,
whispers of promise come to tell
that here indeed our journey ended.
The great tree was at last complete.
Our walls began to curl inward
on account of heavy ocher dyes,
such art do we know in the bones,
and our reptilian brains stretched
in the heat of long-forgotten fires.
No more the great debates, for
here our prayers were answered.
We found poetry in the science.
But the steady line of blood ended
as evolution decries and we marveled
at the strange and magnetic change
wrought by the man with a voice,
oh he of the descended larynx;
his eyes are bright with words.

Reviews

[H.]

I really enjoyed this read. I admit, I had to use Google for a few of the terms...But hey, I'm always keen on learning something new.

The first thing that popped into my mind as being the man at the end of the poem was the antichrist. We need a catalyst, even if it is a catalyst for destruction, to pull us out of this era. The fire is gone, novelty is withering, and creativity has been reduced to simple devices such as irony and supposed "randomness."

We are desensitized, thinking that the catchphrase "oh, it's just science" quickly explains everything. That's the danger in our language, just assigning everything a name and forgetting what it is to appreciate something's essence. I hope his larynx, whatever it utters, may bring an end to all of this nonsense.

What I particularly loved was the contrast in time periods--from the paleolithic/mesolithic periods, maybe a couple of lines to "modern" times, and right to the future, this intriguing figure, this man...Even though the tense seems all wrong...Did you mean those last lines to be "from the future?" If so, then I suppose there is nothing wrong at all with the tense. It threw me off a bit, that's all.