Ode to the Glorious Mess of Man

 Like trees, we stand (until we fall),
We breathe, we eat, we poop, we sprawl.
Our blood runs red, our feet touch dirt,
We cry in pain, and sometimes flirt.
We grow, we shrink, we sometimes thrive,
Though many don’t make it out alive.

Our blood runs red, our feet touch dirt,
We cry in pain, and sometimes flirt.
We grow, we shrink, we sometimes thrive,
Though many don’t make it out alive.

But lo! Unlike the docile fern,
We’ve got a brain, and thus we yearn.
We built machines, and rules, and clocks,
And boxed our lives in paradox.
We made a thing called “nine-to-five”
And call it living to survive.

With systems vast and norms absurd,
We chase success, that flying bird.
We measure worth in numbers, fake,
And dream of yachts we’ll never make.
We buy what hurts, we sell what heals
And wonder why we miss our meals.

Inflation, say the learned few,
Is growth! (just don’t ask: growth for who?)
We print fake coins, we hoard and clutch,
Then praise the rich for having much.
Meanwhile the poor, in anxious sleep,
Count failures instead of counting sheep.

We crave a life of filtered grace,
A perfect jawline, flawless face.
We hashtag pain, we TikTok tears,
We borrow joy, repay with fears.
Yet all we need is food and rest,
A humble roof, a feathered nest.

But man wants more, he needs a brand!
A tribe, a flag, a piece of land.
He’ll kill for gold, or greener grass,
Then die from gas he made en masse.
Oh sapiens! Great brain and all
Still slips on pride and tends to fall.

So here’s to Man, in glory steeped,
In systems vast and garbage heaped.
He seeks the stars, but trips on shoes,
Invents ten gods, but still can’t choose.
He is, but wants to seem much more
A breathing beast that runs a store.