I am made of static
A group of Infinitesimally small points on a three-dimensional grid
As I watched ants blanket the edge of the sidewalk
I came to this conclusion
Their rank and file were knotted up in a juncture between cement cracks
I could not find room for a soul within that mass
Nor the mass of my own sinew and flesh
I was taught that the ants are indeed beasts with no soul
That I differ
That my ethereal being goes where I go
suspended within the confines of my substance
Compelling my breath by monolithic flame
Though, I ponder on implications
If souls were bound by no such pretense.
If my soul might reside in heaven
Or maybe next to you, watching reruns on the couch
I might be disseminated into fragments
One piece hand-in-hand with a soul-mate
While others are passed out like communion bread
As I say “hello” and “goodbye”
Speaking of ants
A soul may be that too.
A million little facets
Independent and eusocial
With the mind as its queen
The ants, despite being nameless
Know each other and know invaders
They keep balance
Being both prey and predator, ravenous
Conquering mighty ideals
And though quickly swept up by currents
They do not easily drown
In the dark caverns of my soul
Ants will keep their precious things
My fragile young thoughts
Brood whose growth is for the future
In the reaches hides the throne
And the most vulnerable of them all,
Her majesty bears all my secrets in her being
The ants toil and break themselves in order to increase
They tell my where it’s safe
Where danger lies
And if I would listen, then I’d be wise.
The ants are everywhere that I might be
They nourish me with hopes and dreams
Yes, my soul must be an anthill
A simple, yet arcane thing
The world inside boundless in mystery
Full of hidden chambers
And at its deepest center
The beginning of all of me
From the Author
Well, this problem child took a long time to write. Many, many thanks to my wife, to Julia, and a biiiiig thank you to Marco for providing some particularly helpful feedback on my previous draft. One of the nice things about writing is finding such encouraging people the help realize and refine a concept.
This is a poem about the poetry of ants.
Starting next week, expect posts to drop on Saturdays instead of Fridays. I’m back at work, so a Saturday upload gives me a little extra time and a little less distraction to really put my heart into this project of mine.
Thanks for reading!