On Vultures, and Inevitably
The racing of our imaginations --
you argue, perhaps,
that is our incentive?
Lives without incentives are insane,
and insanity with incentive is life.
And how can we know what is beyond our mountains,
when we are trapped inside them?
I have seen the feeding vultures,
they don't know any better.
We spend too much time hurting them to realize
we were hurting ourselves.
We spend too much time running from the inevitable
to realize we are what we fear.
This poem is about:
Poetry Terms Demonstrated:
Login or register to post a comment.