to the alien eye
humans are nothing more than the animals they keep;
after all, what kind of king kills the gods
who killed the titans for them? what kind of man, any
in or beyond the boundaries of the universe,
looks into the soul of another and decide with all
the weight of a mother's grief, to end it?
yet, to the alien eye,
humans are also those dead gods,
the ones they molded themselves after.
after all, it takes certain death to move
a solider from his post,
a man from his country,
a woman from her sisters,
a child from their mother's lap - it takes nothing
less than the absolute absence of human to move one.
humans often love in ways beyond ritual;
they too often laugh without reason
just as they often cry.
humans condemn one another but protect any stranger,
just as they shall hold a fist as if
it were an open palm.
humans often mourn with such vigor that
any are justifiably surprised when
they manage to live on.
to the alien eye,
that is their alieness -