(Part of the Series: On The Establishment, Care, and Maintenance of Personal Social Parameters)
Vestigial memories: huddled in a cave,
hungry, frightened,
destined to die
in two or three decades,
if not painfully and suddenly
as prey.
We live longer now
but still seek the tribal cluster,
for security,
but mostly to assuage
the overwhelming and debilitating
sense of being alone,
and insignificant, against the void.
We develop secret handshakes,
certain ways of dressing,
arcane reference buzzwords,
and mark our bodies
so those we seek to emulate
may recognise us as one of
“them”.
When shall we evolve far enough
to recognise that,
in order for our species
to survive cosmic extinction,
we must stop tribal wagon-circling,
and accept that we are one?
We are one species,
wrought from elements
of dying stars.
Our destiny is one:
we are born,
we live,
we die.
Beyond that no evidence exists for furtherance.
It behoves us, then,
during our breath-taking ride
on the arrow of time,
to strive for peace,
for inclusion for all,
for kindness,
for understanding,
for acceptance,
and for love.
All else is folly:
just a crude tribal tattoo
to mark the passage
of a brutish species
who refused evolution,
and tribalized themselves
to extinction.
