Who will miss us?


Who will miss us when we’re gone?
Will the wolves and the cougars cry?
Will the whales and the dolphins mourn our passing?
When the last of the humans have wasted away,
Who will miss our company?

Perhaps the parasites who feed on us
as we feed on others?
Perhaps the mosquitoes who enjoy our sweet blood?
Perhaps the cattle who’ve become accustomed to our keeping?
But will they weep – or simply move on?

Will the birds we cage?
Will the dogs find new friends?
Will the mice miss the cheese?
When we’ve missed the point.

When we learn too late
to be the lovers of this world.
When we’ve devoured instead of devoting.
When we’ve conquered hunger’s quests
and pushed reason beyond its limits.

When aligning our thirsts with its mysteries
would return us to the eternal spring
of a divine humility.
Where what’s immortal is life itself
and god never meant to save me, my self,
and my misguided ego alone

Who will miss us when we’re gone?
The creatures of the garden who winced
when the apple of self-sufficiency’s lie was bit?
Will the birds – who’ve sung to us of our grounded place
while we jealously insisted on conquering the air, the sea,
the highest mountains, and the deepest mines
wondering why we still can’t see
how to stop and be still
– content as our cousin creatures are —
because the human race,
as all races do,
must eventually end.

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