Rolph David
The Architecture of Sacrifice
Why must our breath consume the breath of others,Where roots and sinew cleave to earth in strife?
The pulse we carry echoes through a hunger,
Each beat, a requiem to borrowed life.
Is this the cruel design—a feast of flesh and green?
To live is but to balance on a blade,
Where life begets its own demise unseen,
The cycle harsh, yet cunningly portrayed.
In tooth and root, the struggle builds anew,
Creation’s urge, a paradox to bear:
The many perish so the few push through,
Their fates entwined within this brittle snare.
Yet deeper still, where nature's laws converge,
In tangled threads lies purpose to the fray.
Survival bends to nature’s quiet urge,
For death, as seed, gives life another day.
So what of genes, those ancient scripts we wield,
When most are silenced, buried in the field?
Perhaps it’s not each thread alone they spin,
But in their fall, new patterns form within.
The point, elusive though it seems, may lie
Not in each spark that flickers and is gone,
But in the weave, the greater dance they ply—
A harmony in discord’s brutal song.
If life's pursuit were free of death’s demand,
Would growth be rich, or stagnant in the plain?
For from the clash, from endings dark and grand,
Emerges all—the beauty born from pain.
So life builds life upon what life devours,
Each fleeting grasp a step, a link, a cue.
Destruction, harsh midwife to blooms and towers,
Is neither kind nor cruel—just simply true.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Rolph David.
Published on e-Stories.org on 08/23/2024.
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