Peace

Pity the poor polyp —
Eking out a mere existence.
Aware of no aria,
Concerned only with things aquatic.
Eating only to survive.
Perfectly suited to its group,
Even so living all alone.
A being with no paraphernalia,
Caring only about passing traffic:
Experience or existence?

Praise the simple polyp!
Envy it its life:
Awakening to no Bosnia,
Concerned with no critic,
Expecting no miracle,
Provoking none in its group.
Evaluate its simple life,
Ask yourself this enigma:
Could not we strive to mimic —
Excepting only we use our intelligence?

6.08.95

This poem was written as part of a regular practice of writing based on some single word or item, randomly picked from a dictionary, magazine, book, or some such.

The word for this one was “peace”.

It has not been changed in any way.

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