Drawing straight

 

Nature rarely comes in a straight line. 
The horizon bends. 
The mountain crumbles into chaos.

Yet humanity demands a grid. 
We lay down the ruler 
To tame the wild expanse. 
We measure the infinite with a wooden stick.

It is a necessary fiction. 
A comfort for the modern mind. 
We pretend the map is the territory 
because the alternative is a terrifying freedom.

We build our houses on the shifting sand. 
We pretend the foundation is solid. 
We count the seconds on a ticking clock.

But the universe does not keep time. 
It only flows. 
We hold up our tiny yardsticks to the stars.

We die in the lines we drew for ourselves. 
Hoping the measure was enough to matter.