Litkicks Message Board Archive

A Contrast to the Dispassion of the Ants

Posted to Poetry




The early morning streets
carry themselves
with great import;
Pedestrians
and cars with precious cargo
to divest themselves
thereof-
The proof of living
is abundant
as ants scurry back and forth
in their morning
commutes to work-
like fretful birds
with no sense of cognizance
for the trees and dirt
that line the highways
which they traverse-
the pathway of their lives
is cut into four neat rows
and they are deathly afraid
to cross those dotted boundaries
into the unknown-
It seems to me, such a waste
living dead on your feet-
or as the case may be,
living dead in your seat-
I come into work at
nine every morning-
But I take pleasure in the task
of action-
Take pleasure in the way
my fingers bend-
Take pleasure in the way
my voice lends its credence
to living-
laughing and singing
as if no one were listening
A contrast to the dispassion
of the ants,
it would seem-
Who will never tell the dreamer
from the dream...