A Precarious Balance
I.
I throw my weary flesh out of bed
And shiver in the cold,
Open my eyes to the burning sunlight
And let last night's dreams
Slip away with the sands of forgotten time.
Our world hangs in a precarious balance,
One part universe,
One part man,
And, depending upon your religion,
A dash of God to ease the strung out soul --
Pulled tight and stretched out
Like the stained white sheets
Hung up to dry,
Cracking and flapping in the tempest wind.
With each new day
And our great coming of knowledge,
Our scientific discoveries
And newfound jargon,
I think the scale is tipping power
More and more into the hands of man,
But I hope some greater being is watching,
Ready to strike us down
And throw wonder back into the shrinking cosmos.
We know too much, I fear,
And this constant, growing knowledge
Is killing the children's fairytales
And lullaby induced dreams.
II.
I step into my jeans
One leg at a time,
Worn out denim
And a morning ritual
That has become second nature,
And I realize the balance
Might just favor the universe after all.
Dragging myself through the human routine,
I notice how robotically programmed
Our race must be.
Organized,
Structured,
And almost desensitized at times it seems.
Yet we keep flailing in the arms of fate,
Two steps forward
For every three jumps back.
I look God in the eyes
And tell him I will not be
Destiny's plaything.
III.
I let myself fall back onto
The dream soaked mattress
Beneath blankets that smell
Like cheap perfume
And struggle as I try to plot out
My next few "original" moves,
But trying to break
A millenium of patterns and mistakes
Is like fighting oppression
As a head on collision,
With only the faintest hope
That I'll maintain consciousness
In the end.
IV.
I close my eyes to the burning sunlight
And let last night's dreams
Float back to me
Like cryptic messages
In bottles tossed
Back onto the shore
With the rising tide
Of the endless sea.
Our world hangs in a precarious balance,
One part universe,
One part man,
And, depending upon your religion,
A dash of God to ease the strung out soul.
Call it a flaw deep-rooted in some organized religion,
But I hope there is a God in control.
I throw my weary flesh out of bed
And shiver in the cold,
Open my eyes to the burning sunlight
And let last night's dreams
Slip away with the sands of forgotten time.
Our world hangs in a precarious balance,
One part universe,
One part man,
And, depending upon your religion,
A dash of God to ease the strung out soul --
Pulled tight and stretched out
Like the stained white sheets
Hung up to dry,
Cracking and flapping in the tempest wind.
With each new day
And our great coming of knowledge,
Our scientific discoveries
And newfound jargon,
I think the scale is tipping power
More and more into the hands of man,
But I hope some greater being is watching,
Ready to strike us down
And throw wonder back into the shrinking cosmos.
We know too much, I fear,
And this constant, growing knowledge
Is killing the children's fairytales
And lullaby induced dreams.
II.
I step into my jeans
One leg at a time,
Worn out denim
And a morning ritual
That has become second nature,
And I realize the balance
Might just favor the universe after all.
Dragging myself through the human routine,
I notice how robotically programmed
Our race must be.
Organized,
Structured,
And almost desensitized at times it seems.
Yet we keep flailing in the arms of fate,
Two steps forward
For every three jumps back.
I look God in the eyes
And tell him I will not be
Destiny's plaything.
III.
I let myself fall back onto
The dream soaked mattress
Beneath blankets that smell
Like cheap perfume
And struggle as I try to plot out
My next few "original" moves,
But trying to break
A millenium of patterns and mistakes
Is like fighting oppression
As a head on collision,
With only the faintest hope
That I'll maintain consciousness
In the end.
IV.
I close my eyes to the burning sunlight
And let last night's dreams
Float back to me
Like cryptic messages
In bottles tossed
Back onto the shore
With the rising tide
Of the endless sea.
Our world hangs in a precarious balance,
One part universe,
One part man,
And, depending upon your religion,
A dash of God to ease the strung out soul.
Call it a flaw deep-rooted in some organized religion,
But I hope there is a God in control.