Animals on a Rock

People will always be people. no matter how many layers of rose glass we put

between us and them, they will always be people.

I once thought that a person was some divine being,

created through a chance incredibly small.

the fact that their parents met, and their parents and so on and so forth…

I found comfort in that.

Perhaps I could be more as I appeared as well.

That I had some divine right to exist and everything around me was warped on some level,

even if I couldn’t see it, I knew it because I made it so.

But as time goes on you see them for what they are.

A completely coincidental happenstance,

two cells that multiplied faster than the could die.

A brain encased in carbon and hydrogen and dumb atoms too small to think about.

I use to think people were made of stardust,

that people could chance and deep down everyone had a heart of gold distorted by

their own false perceptions.

We’re all just dumb animals floating on a giant rock thinking we are self aware

. The truth is nothing gets smaller than what we are now, I am very small,

and sometimes I feel it.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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