Who are you
to define life?

You
whose ability to ponder such questions
was bestowed by Life itself
a power older than stars
mightier than a million suns
extended over distance so vast
our infant mammal minds
cannot even grasp.

Our entire species
is but a speck of newborn plankton
swirling in the belly of an ancient whale
gliding free
in an infinite sea.
You seek to pervert grand truth
into feeble fiction
to make you seem
significant.

Blasphemer!
Your god is too small.
You dare to speak for giants.
You do not know your place.

You are like a toddler
who dons a cape
of worn flannel blanket
and gestures with his tiny hand
declaring himself king
over all the land
which is but one cell
in the bowels
of a majestic behemoth.

You fancy yourself noble knight
when you are but desperate conqueror
unwelcome colonizer
who sees only what appears
through the narrow slit
in your iron helmet.

Hypocrite!
You are like a jealous father
who imposes vain rules
on his wiser children
he himself will not obey.

You deign to define Life
as mere cells in my womb
when you have committed 1000 murders
by breakfast.
Death drips on your fork.
Death enrobes your feet and
encircles your waist.
Death cradles your haunches
and launches from your forefinger.
Death infects your eye sockets
and leaves your door in body bags.

Who are you
to decide life?

I know your secret.
You are terrified.
You have glimpsed behind the veil.
You witnessed a power
you can neither command nor wield.
But you will try, anyway
and hope your puny form
will cast a great shadow on the cave wall
that others
will believe and heed.

But I see you.
I see through smoke and sleight of hand.
You are neither king nor knight.
You are no mouthpiece for the divine.
This is not your domain.

You
are only
a man.

© S. Rinderle, June 2022

Photo: Wicca Magazine