The stars hide from us during the life of a day.

Yet they remain reminders hidden above clouds

That we are tinier than pin pricks in muslin.

The problem under Sol, in our orbit eccentricity,

Is in how we pretend to conquer mountains

While stealing  other people’s dogs

And standing in our sock feet in the slushy snow

We send balloons floating with cameras above our blue

With pretentions of understanding.

All is illusion we can’t help but see or feel

And be fooled by from each moment of waking.

They delude us that we are significant

In the face of all around us that screams otherwise.

Our daughters suffer from hypothermia.

Our lovers play games of emotion to save money.

Our sons rage against our injustice and die through our wars.

We stand ineffectually by and dream dreams of waking.

© Brad Simkulet, 2012