In Worship of Clean

 

Is it not strangely paradoxical that

humanity considers survival without

freedom a quaint notion to be dispelled

through revolutionary zeal unseating

tyrannical dictators so all may be free

and live in the luxury of liberty as befits

intelligent beings. Yet that discerning

humanity shackles itself to rituals in

pursuit of the unattainable; to cleanse

their habitation of the stuff of the universe.

A cleanliness mania dictates what tyrants 

do not, that vast energy be spent in the

endless cycle of sweeping, dusting and

mopping up our very own shed cells and

those of our pets and with that the dust

of distant stars in galaxies far off not

averse to drifting endlessly to find rest

in our homes. And we obliged to tidy up

what nature discards. In so doing shackling

ourselves to the dismal mania of routine

fixing our destiny in worship of clean.