We are the children of the lucky dead.
While millions perished barren, our
Ancestors somehow found an edge -
The mark of Cain, perhaps - and bred.
Our lives are death’s gift to the fortunate.

Some win, some lose;
Those millions whose demise
Became our opportunity -
They did not choose
To die that we may thrive.
How strange, though, that a sort of sacrifice
Seems wired into everything alive.

But when the last Neanderthal
Cleared off and left the world to us,
Did life’s Source and the Destiny of all
Love losers any less?
Or did he then, becoming one himself,
Suffer to embrace
And die to bless?