Conquest

A Poem by Howard Wimshurst

Conquest is a uniquely human habit.

No lion cares to don the name Napoleon,

No bear strives to claim the crown of Caesar,

And sharks lack interest in surpassing stats of Stalin,

In need of a next meal,

Poor creatures hunt or steal,

Spirited on not by want,

But the warning growls

of tormented bowels,

For their cubs to see spring,

Small worlds they occupy,

Past heated homes they slink,

With one mantra to live by,

Kill or slowly die.

It may be so that men forever collapse

under the weight of our own egos,

But at least we stand unmatched,

In hubris and deceit,

For in these vices,

We may never know defeat!