A brutal wound
Dressed in gray
Anguish--
Skyward Titans
Gone.

Heaven of blue
Deeply bruised
Yet still so bright--

The planet turns
A dark direction
Tomorrow greets
A new born light.

But humanity never gets beyond the caterpillar stage--
it rots in the chrysalis, it never will have wings.
—D. H. Lawrence

Spanning the distance between the amoeba
and the stars--
how far we've come
on our dazzling chariots of thought--

Though at times some blood is spilt
to correct some intolerable Wrong,
our souls will become more pure,
as we aim toward a higher Good.

Yes, how far we've travelled
from our animal hearts
our earth-bound leash,
from the whispering grass
the dreaming coelacanth--
advancing toward another world
less known--
the worm softly singing in our ear.

Lifted up
out of the warm, dark ooze
into the clear, strong light--
time faithfully sliding forward
the universe pulsing in our radio telescopes--

Proud, emancipated, we worship tomorrow.