The Protest

The human being is an inherently contentious creature.

Seven billion rock-wall eyes;

Eyes staring belligerently down seven billion sharp noses;

Noses affixed to seven billion faces;

Faces covered in creases and scars,

Framed in unruly hair

And outlined in stark exactness

By the flames cowering in bipedal shadows.

Into the human heart is chiseled "inexorable".

We are an incongruence:

We row up the rapids,

Scale the waterfall

And taunt the oily heavens from atop Devil's Tower.

We will always get what we want,

Whether it involves killing the albatross

Or playing Gondorff's chess.

Whether we wrest it from Gaia's grasp

Or that of our more miserly peers.

Robert C. crystalised our resolve.

The riot gear-clad Blue and Green with timers in their throats

Stand abreast.

Chanting "Listen to Mother. Mother knows best.",

They begin the foreward press.

When an impish grenade leaps our way,

We fling it back between mouthfuls of chips.

The barricades erected 

By Mother and ourselves alike

Are many and implacable and incessant,

But they will be broken and overtaken.

They will be broken and overtaken by us,

The humans,

Because we are.