Observation Report: Sector 4-G
We drifted softly to this sphere of blue, To study beings who presume they know The secrets of the cosmos, old and new, Yet stumble blindly in the mud below.
They stare at glowing rectangles of glass, And worship phantoms on a silver screen. They watch the glory of their planet pass, Entrapped within a digital machine.
They trade their lifetimes for a paper scrap, And call it value, power, currency. They forge the bars of their financial trap, While claiming loudly that their lives are free.
They lock the wild beasts in an iron pen, To mock the captive for their own delight, Yet drag the dirtiest dogs into the den, To sleep upon their linen sheets at night.
A masterclass in pure, hygienic bliss: To share a pillow with a beast that licks Its own anatomy, then prints a kiss— The apex of their evolutionary tricks.
They fight for borders drawn upon the dirt, With weapons forged from primitive desire. They cause each other endless, bitter hurt, And set their only sanctuary on fire.
They pack their young in rows of wooden crates, To teach them blind compliance, rules, and fear. They close their minds and reinforce the gates, To block the Truths the universe holds dear.
They choke their oceans, blacken out the sky, Yet wonder why the weather turns to rage. They look into the stars and ask us why, While twisting shut the padlock on their cage.
We turn our ship toward the deep unknown, And leave this species to their self-decay. A fragile world of glass and flesh and stone, That chose to throw its miracle away.
