The humans claimed dominion over every living thing. 

Proud as purpose they became to walk the earth as they arraigned the common creatures caught within the corpus, 

Cursed, conscious human brain. 

Every word that's ever written will fall short of its intent, 

Even spoke or sun or screamed it will betray what it has meant. 

Language is the heart's lament, a weak attempt to circumvent the loneliness inherent in the search for permanence 

(like all the future ghosts who scratch their names in wet cement). 

Demeaning meaning as they shout out at the emptiness, 

Abstraction is the stake between the anima and animus. 

Deflesh the word as scourge of human destiny. 

Behold the world in other people, life is clarity.