The Treadmill
Six billion rats,
in six billion cages,
running round and round
going nowhere.
How can they dull the pain
of their unending existence.
Some deny the treadmill is there
they are but dust in infinite universes
their lives have no purpose
but are the random Brownian motion
of a mote buffeted by chance.
Some choose opium,
the prozac of blind belief,
to dull the senses
and put themselves
in an unfeeling stupor.
Some try to get off the wheel
by contemplating stillness
until their minds escape
into the bliss of extinction.
Others tap the source of all being
and discover
they can help one another
and that the wheel is not pointless
but by acts of love
powers the world to rotate.
