Small Wisdom

In front of me, there are
A hundred tiny people on
Pin-head pedastals;
Falling over
Thimbles, 5 pence pieces,
Their own expectations.

Ruling their world with
Fragments of the things we leave behind.

They hold themselves so importantly with their miniature pride…
Run over mountains, feet and ankles,
Hide behind the tiniest brick walls.

We watch with indulgence, interest,
As they measure their footprints by
Human widsom, and make their
Tiny, delicate movements through life.

They are jelly baby people,
Miniature sculputures of us.
They run on white feet and are
Invincible to all but the
Yawning infinity of plug holes,
Large drops and
Death. 

We play god.
Like children with dolls and scissors,
Dictating their
Pretty motions with
Misjudged grace.

And they watch us silently, with their
Tiny voices and their open,
Human meanings
As we restlessly look down to see their shadows,
Look ahead and round, but never up, so we
Do not understand their warning words that
It does not do for us to be so careless,
when we walk
So close to the ankles of giants.