Torn by the angst-split conscience
of an enraged blood as Cain,
with terror’s homicidal reign,
or the Asian kidney traders with
crate-filled liver-for-dollar deal
and bloodstained cents,
or the Mediterranean merchants
of willing slaves,
and black puberty for Italian euros,
man is limited.
Hopeless to the ravenous winds,
stirring humongous scrapers,
spilling the masculine rocks of Olumo
to the feminine planes of the Sahara,
man’s knowledge,
and science humbled, to scamper
from venomous elemental onslaughts,
man is limited.
Helpless, now yielding hopelessly
to the mystical unseen hands
and invisible chains roundabout him,
directing with iron-grip certitude,
the cause of his life
from cuddling cradle
to the cold comfort
of the ornamented grave,
man is limited.
Swallowed up by the freeing turf
of limitless learning,
and knowledge afield
aimed at mental elixir but which,
as Frankenstein, turns round
to bare its monstrous fangs
with benignly alluring torment,
man is limited.
