Macroscope

What can be said

for the honest arrowhead?

Devoid of malice, bowstring snaps,

all o' the sudden seeing red.

A drop to a bucket,

a bucket to a sea.

A cell to an organ

to an amalgamation called "Me."

First a feeling, then a thought,

then an action or a word,

but not an end, forever ripples,

on and on to widths absurd.

As a bee to a hive

and a hive to the bears,

I slave away within a world

gouged by warring billionaires.

Is there a greater good than mine?

Please, tell me, where do I sign up?

We're puzzle pieces by design?

Or more like wine into a cup?

Then let me be drunk, and let my drinker

sing and dance and be most merry

as I navigate her veins

and ease the burden of her weight to carry.

The prey to the predator,

their jungle to the globe.

A cutting-edge gene editor

to a solitary microbe.