By Andrew R. Duckworth
In our pride, we swept the past
Under the rug, departed from
The knowledge and wisdom
Of every past civilization,
And called their observations
Myth and our same observations
Discovery-removed the God from
Creation and slapped our brutish
Language onto it because our
Methods are ‘better.’
What was the difference?
Our tools and only our tools,
But tools we used as fools
As we drooled over images
Of an atom, of a cell.
Clever formula, clever equation,
Minus one, minus the important,
Minus the past, minus the mind.
Subtract the mind
Leave the past behind,
And you end up with questions
With no answer-the answer
Still lingering in the past.
But perhaps we outlast
And learn to pick up
The better tools,
The ones waiting
In a dusty library
Of a thousand pages.