The Human Race

I awoke to dark to find five-thousand feet upon the path,

Fleeing from the unseen hind that lay forsaken, kin to wrath.

And, unthinking, I too ran, without a hope, without a plan.

A thousand fell in frozen blunder, bound by blight of heavy heart.

And so the souls were swept asunder, by their sons were rent apart.

Into the black the corpses thrown, fed to anger by their own.

But then, in moving mass, I felt to move no more, to halt my pace.

So there I slowed myself, and knelt, and bared my eyes for what I faced.

What glory shown in joyous light, hid behind us from our sight!

But on the sorry escapade did forge its way along the path,

Driven by a joyless shade, a figment of imagined wrath.

Lay down your blinders, halt your feet, your very race is obsolete!

Fear not to slow, but turn to see, for life itself is what we flee!