By Joshua Shammay

How humble we;
The human being.
In shape and in form;
Simple and unadorn'd.
Yet closer complex beyond belief.
A biological marvel causing relief;
That it was not we who designed ourselves.
For we know now the work that would entail;
Is far beyond our limited capacity for creation of life;
And would, furthermore, likely end in misery and strife.

All species different;
Than the magnificent;
Homo Sapiens, so we claim;
Cannot to others be the same.
And we walk as Gods on this sphere.
Natural laws which we dare not adhere;
State an equality between all the life on Earth.
But there are no qualities in which we do dearth;
So therefore we are, most naturally, above all else we see.
And any claims that we are not, rejected as lies can easily be.

Now it is here I sit;
Budging not one bit.
Master of all else around me;
Only ephemeral ties ground me;
To this mortal plain, a step from the next;
To which I would go, indeed I'm perplexed;
Why humans have not transcended yet, oh well.
'Tis a thing for another time, I glance the schedule;
And notice that the beast upon which I wait, upon which I wait. Is late.
And there is not a jot which I can do upon the matter in my present state.

Drops of water fall;
As the sky does bawl.
Infinite slugs descend upon me;
Each trying hard to home in on me.
The bench on which I rest, is dilapidated;
At best, and should have been emancipated,
Long ago. The wood rots as I sit and there is no cover;
Above my head to stop the rain from its annoying hover.
There are other masters of the universe all around me, they talk and chat;
They ask me "How bout this weather? Bloody awful, eh?" and such as that.

How conscious we;
Of our fixed proximity.
To the God we worship well;
Fearing or else we'll go to hell.
Conscious indeed but even yet we plant;
In us belief that the proximity is but scant;
Far as much as we are led to believe by those who;
Doth the robe or collar wear. Because we know true;
Our place in the order of things. Our position is surely at the top.
And here I sit. Another daft metal creature goes past but does not stop.

When I catch an ant;
It's life, however scant;
Is now mine to chose whether;
To destroy or keep for a measure.
These hands, within whose callused grip;
Life... or death is merely a choice to pick.
Now hold a coat hard against my chest for warmth;
And try hard not to shiver with the breaking of the storm.
And when I peer into the growing gloom of the night which I sit atop;
Not one metallic people carrier do I see that is heading for this lone stop.

Rulers of creation;
Makers of the nations.
Powerful, cunning, rational;
Marvellous, stunning, fashionable.
Highest pinnacles of the evolutionary chain;
Our planet, thanks to us, will never be the same.
Theologians, physicists, chemists, botanists, scientists;
Compare us to all else and we stand very high on the list.
I am a member of the human race, and with every part of my might;
With all of my power. It is here I sit. Waiting for the bus, in the night.