We are not dire wolves,
We do not run in packs,
We’re not predators,
We are wildebeest,
We run in herds,
We are fodder,
Fearful of the brush all around,
Unsafe in our carnivorous habitat,

And like wood lice,
We retreat to our homely crevices,
Unsafe in our forms of chitin,
At the whiff of any danger,
Scurrying away from the intrusive light,
Decrying the suns ambush,
To this world we are prey,
We are wildebeest and wood lice.

Comments
  1. Of the many things I like about your poems is what this one epitomizes. That one should not take oneself more highly as one ought. Thank you🙏

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