How arrogant to think ourselves in control; how demeaning to think we're not.
On an unrelated note:
I am the cardboard cutout,
torn from the canvas
of artists who can't shade.
A new light source might cause glare,
and darkness still chalks the outline
of whose frayed edges even form a flattened latitude.
There, despite the density and facets,
all angles are equal.
Tap on me and the muted slap is consistent.
Right amount of wind, I'm downed or carried.
(Just make sure the brace is held tight,
and he'll stand all night!)