Evolution Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

In nature there's
no music, myth or math,
but modern minds seek
patterns, reasons, plans.
Once growing skulls and tongues
surpassed our hands
and discourse cleared
our civilizing path.
From cells
whose needs they seek to gratify
to selves
who organize, repress and please,
to moral souls
who must their guilt appease
perhaps we'll find a way
to justify the suffering we face
when lost, alone,
inspired by some sense.
No language rules
and many gods are used
by fools like tools,
yet we crave power
higher than our own.
What spirit waits
beyond dogmatic herds?
What wisdom whispers
'round our web of words?