This Weight

Swarming bacteria in a wound,
Locust upon a field of gold,
Fibers criss-cross on a loom,
Or a crawling, rank, infectious mold.

And each drone within this hive,
Blinks in wonder below the moon,
Each one begs to stay alive,
Each finds the end comes far too soon.

Mothered in sod, sweat, blood, and tears,
Fathered of seed of shimmering light,
This bleating throng driven by fears,
Cower and cleave in the dark of night.

Every whelp upon it's mother's breast,
As common as the common cold,
Grows to find there is no rest,
From youthful dreams that grow so old.

Infesting every mount, valley, coast, or isle,
Gaping yaw too ravenous to fill,
Plodding through every last lonely mile,
Seldom slowing, or ever standing still.

Be we angel, demon, beast, or child,
Plain as snow, unique as snowflakes,
Beggars for love, yet living beguiled,
In dust, in love, in birth and death partake,

This weight.