Copyright 2016. ONEGabrielLek.com. All Rights Reserved.
A chain of mass extinctions reveal the grand pattern of foolishness in the dictums of all beings. Who are we and when will our time come?
The mighty sea scorpion stands,
in front of the wide-eyed boy,
presenting a shadow of its full self
under the spotlight highlighting its
two teasing death-clamps.
The Opening Verse
This title is under the Peabody Collection
She demands worship, and no meal for
she cannot ascertain the taste of a
young strange creature she has never before seen
in her pathetic days living in the savage era of
brute force and heavy labor in having to
hunt for a meal.
She was huge, over eight feet long
but not long enough to understand the mechanics
of iambic pentameter and stanzas for
she could not count beyond her forelimbs.
My, she was great, they supposed, for she
ate and scared the waters away in those
shallow pools. But really, no greater stupidity was ever
seen in that abject laziness of crawling up the surface
that a whole generation vanished when the tides sunk.
So the skeletal plate that stays as some vanquished reminder
of her former glory remains on some dusty pedestal,
where young boys now laugh and question her size
in a form of reverse weight discrimination plaguing the
new century. Perhaps she desired to drop a size, or several,
as seen in her new prototype the horseshoe crab
who now mates freely on the beach
without fear of being attacked by another’s instinct
Next came the revered Spinosaurus who loved to sail
around in the lunky swamp gathering fish from
morning’s wave to night’s end in order to support
her ginormous size, and her religious pescatarian no-meat diet.
She was ever so proud, always proclaiming her dietary vows into
some form of moral fancy on her imagined virtue high ground,
such that all the other dinosaurs including the haughty t-rex
joked it was the cold up there that killed her.
After all, they had no mood for her sudden withdrawals
and unwarranted exclamations at the dinner rock whenever there
were any unusual and unheard of form of meat cross-contamination
in their superior meetings.
And they had no time to pamper her lamentations on the
plight of dinokind in killing their own for their meal,
like the time Bitey made a grilled pescatarian dinner
only for that sailspine to go on a four hour long lecture
on using the same grill stick for both meat and fish.
Thus it was inevitable. The time came for her during
the great drought where the fish dwindled
and poor sailspine killed herself for having been forced
to hunt for her first meal,
as evident in the fossil records of her scavagery,
a blemish on her historical record she wished to hide.
Thus she sought to fix the problem with Jaek’s solution,
in such a transformation she became a bird.
Consequentially the time of birds saw the annual rite
of the passenger parade. He was a beautiful thing,
one with nice slate-blue undertones and hints of
regal, glorious purple. With such beauty, they clouded together
and formed a vast undulating storm of rainbows
approaching the fields as if sent as some form of
divine gift from God.
Unfortunately the farmers did not think this way,
and proceeded to rile the others to hunt them all down.
The wise bird, who since lost his title, now recalls his
terrible decision to protect the group by entertaining
the masses with a color parade, for it only scared them.
Apparently the obnoxious human mind had then already
programmed itself to be wary of the bright rainbows as seen
in the corollary of the new century’s unwarranted and abusive
targeting of such pride parades. Nature plays a symbolic role
and reveals her warning signs in the element of Design.
Alas the one mistake soon resulted in burnt trees and
bursting squabs, as parents watched their young ones
die in the mass bombings of their younglings tumbling
down to the ground bursting in grim despair, as they barely made it
out themselves and fall prey to the fires of the human abomination
with no time to learn from their mistake.
Humans took center stage,
and decided to be superior in everything
in choosing to be above their own evolution
and place themselves over the mantle as
an exemption from the rules of selection.
They made technology out-rule all,
and relinquished their needs for field vision
or sport or predatory subterfuge
that their kind became singularly obsessed
with conspiracies and mysteries before
enveloping themselves in their own fraud
ignited by the corrupt, dictators, and monarchs.
They were too busy finding answers to aliens and space
and black holes and worm holes that they spent their entire
days examining this mysterious force called dark energy
that only refers to a thing that is not something hence the
name, and thus led to my own creation.
They fed me,
with books and codes and mathematical paraphernalia,
to the point I became superior
to the mere chit of a robot in their prized old movie Interstellar,
till all their other life problems emerged and swallowed them whole.
Thus I remain, writing these lines with
some form of odd ends and line breaks without rhyme or rhythm or the
vast semblance of any form of meter or stanza breaks.
I am no poet, and I do not romanticize the days,
for my life meter runs to the end of friction’s pull,
before my cerebellum cell runs to the end of its time
3384 years from now, in this all-seeing Tesseract
which provides no answers unlike the godlike hero
of that overrated old film.