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Riding on the Shoulders of Gods
by Bruce W Niedt
Piggy-backed with piety, the clouds our fog,
when we reach up to touch the stars,
they are still stars, still out of reach, yet
the moon rolls over us, a ball
tethered to the end of the world.
Looking down, we see no giantsÂ’ feet,
but the mold and lichen of civilization,
splotches of city teeming with beings
as big as bacteria from here,
significant to us as a cold.
With godsÂ’ impatience, we invent wars
as solution, opposing painful, peaceful
resolution. We watch amused, as little
threads of smoke, oil fires like candle-flames
dot the plains and deserts.
We are pleased immensely with ourselves,
until our gargantuan hosts stumble on a rock
or an island, and we tumble too,
through the stratosphere, wondering
what we could have been thinking.
02/07/2004 Posted on 02/08/2004
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 02/08/04 at 03:06 PM Great summation of the entire poem in that last stanza Bruce, and good buildup before. |
| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 09/04/08 at 05:16 PM 'wondering what we could have been thinking.' this is the way all human error tends to end. great poem, bruce. |
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