Literature
The Last Dinosaur
Was just a painting -
splashes of color
put to a wide
empty canvas -
not particularly
special
but what do I know?
with my tired eyes
and yet...
The dinosaur
was a child,
wobbling on
a mountaintop -
short legs
not meant
to climb
and yet...
attainment!
Looking out
over a valley
where a gloomy
ice age had begun
to creep, to devour...
All alone,
one of a kind,
crying out...
tears of a kind
in my mind
fell from
that cliff...
Give the reptile
a human voice
and there
you have Man.
We cry out
for many things-
for hope,
for home,
for life
and for love
to whom
or what
for whatever
our tired eyes
may covet.