The cold bite of a winter wind reminds me
of man’s inadequacy—
bereft of fur and thick skin,
he relies on construction of polyesters and nylons,
the use of sheep’s wool and the Earth’s cotton.
Though without claws and venom,
man has his mind to craft the tools,
extensions of himself.
I retreat into a grove of pine
where I sit upon the floor of dry needles,
like an unkempt barbershop.
My hands begin to lose feeling in the frigidity.
They shiver as a shaved animal would.
Funny the areas of hair we have, we tame.
We control it.
Control is all we’re trying to get.
Control the cold, control the weather,
control another, control the world,
control yourself!
Man has extended himself beyond
his own reaches.
Man can no longer control his constructions.
Play God he has, but is he not God?
It seems the Devil for many.
The Devil has run rampant (symbolically, naturally,)
and loving Gods are few.
All of man’s systems are plagued by him.
Watch an infant’s innocence, pure.
As it ages, it spoils—
Whole generations brainwashed!
I’m writing back from isolated islands of ignorance!
What to think? What to think?
Now I remember! I’ve been told what,
and I see this cage.
Now watch it disappear.
Must I always forget
to just watch freedom’s birth once more?
-Ryan K. Fuller