Linda M. Crate- Three Poems

we are not gods but men

 

we take each day for
granted,
forgetting our mortality
cryogenics will not save us
i don't care what they
say,
we are mortal beasts
living only
a fraction
of immortality; our expiration date
doomed the day we are
born—
we have to make each moment count
that's the sad truth of it all,
and they promise
tomorrow you may start again
with a fresh slate,
but what if tomorrow never comes?
we are too easy on ourselves sometimes
yet too hard at others
we forget we have limitations,
but we do;
no one wants to be told no
yet sometimes it's what needs to be
heard—
we are not God
creation is beyond us
to pretend we can bring back prehistoric
beasts without consequences is
foolishness,
and why should we when there are so many
other problems in this world we should
sort out first?
just to say we can?
to say look at us and our freakish abilities?
no, i say we shouldn't,
and i know i may be in the minority in saying
this but just because one can do something
simply doesn't mean they should
every action
has a consequence negative or positive,
and we are not God
playing Him could prove disastrous.

tomorrow may never come

we are not promised tomorrow
yet so many assume
that it will come,
and there have been so many days
that i've prayed
would never wake their hellish dawn
upon the whisper of my face,
and yet they did
heathens that they were and i made it through
and though i wish the end would never
come;
or that i wouldn't be here when it did
eventually it will raise it's ugly head—
nothing lasts forever,
so what makes us think that we will one day find
the key to immortality?
humans were the worst thing to happen to the environment
we destroy more than we can afford to eat,
and take more than we need
for some tomorrow
that may or may not ever come;
we squander wealth that is not ours
bruise the earth
that feeds us and clothes us in her kindness—
one day she'll find a way to destroy us all for our cruelty
if we don't all rain destruction down our own
necks first.

consequences of our actions

we always want to take moments that are not ours
to stall time from breathing
yet we cannot
bring the ripple we sent out back to us
no matter how hard we may try,
and they tell us tomorrow
is another day
yet that day you're dreaming of may never come
and even if it does
does it really give you the right to make wax wings
and fall like icarus into the sea?
we humans
are always flying too close to the sun,
wanting things that are
perfectly
horrible for our own account;
we flare with anger and tempers brighter than stars
forgetting there may be a reason for no
and that with every closed door
there may be an open
window
in our stead—
we'd rather chase after immortality and things that are
not meant to be ours,
and we insist
that we are right even when we know we're wrong;
we try to play God all the while knowing we
are not,
and yet somehow think we will not be punished
for this one tomorrow?
oh, but we will.