Hunters and Gatherers

A Poem by Dean

If reason serves
and desperation cancels all,
then we do vacillate when
each seductive choice demands
an answer now. Though it be wise,
fulfillment cloys and man would seek an end
to vanity or pain...and to the end of day
fight off the windmills in his mind.

Strike out from home!
Well-armed with hunger, loyalty and zeal;
Sense in the snow of that forboding forest--
the beast awaits...a moment's agony becomes
a postponed memory beyond the feast; see
we are hunters all--will be, by God,
so long as lust for life prevails!

And that poor moment comes at midnight...
pleads its cause too late;
one tear alone will fall, and dry
on one distended belly.

Another time with baskets on our arms,
our sickles sharp to clear away unwanted husks,
impeccant fruit our goal,
an urgency to harvest ere th'advancing rot
corrupts its sweetness.
It's righteous labor, so we say,
for we did plant and tend the growth,
dike the riverbanks
and times there were when we did die
in the insistent flood.

Birthed by art and sustenance,
our labor takes its toll on reason.
A choice, no choice at all if by demand.
Ten-thousand years of academia
get filed away in untouched envelopes,
then set on fire by such emasculated flame
as our perception of desire.
It satisfies the pompous cur...a little while,
but vain enough to send us
screaming through the woods in quest of palliatives
that one can never find.

The shot is heard, and truth forever begs.
The basket filled, and hunger rages on.
An end is not a choice for all to end.
Seduction laughs at time, and births itself.
And now it is for us upon this tiny stage
to play the role of deity,
and for the moment, save ourselves
by choosing to create the choice alone.
~