From caves to ships that kiss the void,
The gentle dream was first destroyed.
No drawn-on wall, no Lunar track,
Was paid for by a pat on back.
The tribes that chose the quiet grove
Just stalled, forgot to push and shove.
They made no wheel, they kept their peace —
And watched their bloodline simply cease.
So bless the blade, the fraud, the lie;
That's how we learned to climb the sky.
We hate the means, but need the thrust:
The Sun a deadline, not a trust...
We might transcend this filthy race
And earn some soft, post-human grace.
But till our star begins to swell,
Move forward, friend!! Go straight to hell!
(Earth. Undated.)
***
© Copyright: Андрей Варнин, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126041200251
Свидетельство о публикации №126041200251
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