We Draw Lines

Is morality manifest
merely by man?
Invisible, yet indivisible,
living systems all exist.
If it weren’t for the
shadow-casting
omnipotent torch,
I would not be aware
of the swirling current:
Tiny flying insects
swarming about
in synchronized whirls;
delicate,
gyroscopic brilliance.
Past noting their presence,
there’s a moments’ flash,
a fleeting thought
of destroying them whole.
It’s gone with the passing winds,
this passing thought-
the one guilty,
and wafting overhead
all others -
(at least, by their own sight).

All life
is not
held as high.
… . and we,
…  we draw lines.
The choice is where
I might hold mine,
And what wings flitter
about either side.

I nurture life in the petal-graced pots,
where Gardenias gracefully grow;
placed in the open, to soak in the Sun.
              …and what of the grass beneath it?

Smothering that life away,
and any creeping thereon.
I choose the potted queen
of sweet ascetics,
perfumer of lawns,
over the lowly blades.

All life
is not
held as high.
… . and we,
…  we draw lines.
The choice is where
I might hold mine,
and whose roots
and vines
grow upon
the other side.

Heirarchies are
born by lines.
(lines drawn
by influence,
dominance,
and tradition)
Rigidity and stability,
inherent inheritability.

All life
is not
held as high.
… . and we,
…  we draw lines.
The choice is where
I might hold mine,
and who dwells upon
the other side.

Your faltering line
deposits filth
upon mine.
Lightly dusted
in soot
and grime.
I must wipe
it away
(from me
& my mind). . .

Making sure
to keep intact
that which crosses
over yours.
One act
I may find natural
others will deplore;
yet, the more I learn,
the more it shifts,
from where it was before.

One would likely lay down
their life for that
of a baby -
yet,
what of a dog?
a cat?
a squirrel?
a rat?
a blade of grass?
a vulture
a gnat?

Yet, any artist
may deny
that nature holds
a single line.
The owners’
eyes
are the only place
they really lie.