There is a road that winds endlessly on and on; it does not stop, yet in some places it becomes hard to follow.

In the oceans, a cradle, the mother rocking a delicate child before sending her on her way, fumbling along the yet untrodden road.

Breathe it in- the oxygen, the very essence by which we live.

It was not always there. 
We owe it to the plants who emerged from the waters  and unknowingly brought a cascade of life.

The path became more worn than ever before- the way was clearer, easier to follow even as it climbed mountains.

Great dynasties rose, but even the greatest were somehow still felled by Nature’s wrath.

The most majestic of them all, perhaps, were the dinosaurs.

For millions of years they lasted, thriving both within and above the waters from which they came.

But it could not last, as good things never do. 
They were a kingdom that held a crown of scales and teeth, mighty in their power, and they were decimated in a single day, an unlucky hit.

From the great unknown of space it came, angry, burning bright, until it crashed into a place where it could unleash its anger, for the most beautiful of things are the most envied- and the first to be destroyed.

The fires raged, and nothing could survive. But somehow, life found a way, as it always does.

Out of the ashes rose a phoenix, and slowly, slowly, the trees regrew, and with them the animals returned. But this time, a new ruler had found its way onto the path.

Mammals. They were the underdogs, and still now they are the dictators. From their ranks came one species to rival the rest- the most dangerous of them all.

Humanity is a miracle, and a curse;  As we grow and grow, always taking, we are stampeding along the road, and as it stretches out for us it slowly closes on the rest. 
For billions of years, life has found a way along the trail, through extinctions and apocalypses.

We are running head on, blind to the destruction, towards our downfall, and the path branches out in forks, the choices we must make. One leads to a self inflicted death- the other to change.

But we must not wither in the face of our hopelessness-

We must evolve.



14 years old

More by wildcat

  • In the Woods

    In the woods,

    All is silent but for the twinkling sounds of falling snow

    Flakes descending, like crystals 

    They are bejeweled with angles that dazzle and delight, so delicate

    Each one unique among millions.