By A. Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite this poem aloud

With thanks to Steve Spender

Since we are what we are, how could we be
Other than what we are, we ask. We wander
Maybe a century on two feet to see
The world. Then not a thing and six feet under.
We know we are not gods, though we desire
Eternity. However you have died
What are we but the mastery of fire
And art and eloquence and genocide?

That is a special way of being a fool
Drunk on sobriety. It is oblivion
Turning a human into a lethal tool
Smelting away the hope to say: lay on,
Damn times! You will not break me to defeat me. 
The only thing that you can do is beat me.

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