Drakensberg

They say cavemen are our infancy,
on a lifeline of Far Then,
but we would do disservice
to imagine them not men.
 
Surprised by ancient artistry,
a cave wall’s symboled daub,
we can’t believe such technique
springs from that primitive mob,
 
or that every era delivers
genius, two or three,
that maybe we all belong
charted on mortality.
 
Look how the neck is contoured,
the haunch a colorist’s quarry,
the attenuated tendon
smudged in pigment’s slurry.
 
They saw, like us, and like us
they sought to capture life
with replicating honor this time,
not an arrow or a knife.

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