Rains turned a blind eye, & the world dried to dust,
choked.
Then all the worms died, baking in cracked, rotten
soil.
When this is over, it'll be like we never really were in
the first place.
Just dirt, soon enough at least, when we find our place
among the worms.
No page will remember our names, who would care to
know them?
Another wave of life, pushed over the edge, into
the organic meat grinder, six feet under.
Do we keep breathing, this same breath, or do we
stop all together.
Do we walk on, or pause & listen to the
oceans crashing music.
Do we blink, or let our eyes dry, sitting behind
***** glass windows, watching it all cave in.
Endless streets, scattered faces, a million different
stories, untold.
I'd like to know the names of cavemen, to utter
them once again.
Just to say I didn't forget, just to pretend I
tried.
I saw your hand prints, outlines from smoke on
rocky walls.
I wish I knew your stories, your common words
& wisdom.
It's that way for every name through history,
recorded or otherwise.
If we took every misery suffered by man, and wrote a book,
would you read it?
Would you burn it?