There are those in this world
Who act like ivory statues
Crafted by great men
Of an ancient, noble empire.
They look in the mirror
And see beaming faces of ivory
As they stand affixed,
Immovable upon their pedestal.
Higher, so high above the Earth
They look down upon the world
Seeking ownership of its wonder
Grimacing, judging, doubting.
The great statues claim purity,
Divinity as they live amidst the clouds,
Never realizing that their tall pillars
Were man-made, pulled from the very ground.
They never stop to think
That they, the individual were man-made
That they too were born
Out of blood and sperm.
They too were one of millions
They too were crafted delicately
In the primordial chamber
Of the womb.
They claim purity, ascension
Evolution beyond the needs
Of the flesh, desperate and depraved
Spurning nature herself.
Yet as they hide among the clouds
We know of the stains upon their ivory faces
We know that filth flies even so high
So why then must we pretend?
From mud, we sprout.
To dust, we return to rest.
No matter how high the tower,
You will plummet back to earth.
You will be consumed by its filth.
The soil will reclaim you.
It will not resent, only reuse
And from the filth yet more will sprout.
Despite all arrogant words,
Despite all fanciful words,
We are crafted from clay,
We are made of dirty, Earthly things.