You made us the kings of a tiny planet.
You put into our beings endless feelings.
You know how all the stories end
And tell us we have freedom.
You gave us no wings but imagination to construct them.
And you feel you can judge us because you made us.
And I wish you could answer a million questions.
We are your faulty subjects, the lowly humans,
Who know best how to hate than love.
But this is how you launched us into existence.
We may be less the product of your love than of your ego.
We are demise, desire, pure destruction.
We are compassion, courage, and a bit of conscience.
Our tiny planet, not so tiny, is tired of contradictions.
I imagine you in your throne, waiting for our extinction.
Perhaps you are ready to build a better subject.
Because of all the living beings on Earth,
You erred the most with us.
We are your masterpiece,the kings of Earth,
and perhaps you are the masterpiece of a bigger maker.
And I wonder if like me, some days,
Your sadness make it hard to face the world in the morning.
B. Meza (c) 09/19/15 11:45 pm