Where we’ve been,

where we’ve gone,

the air that our wishes,

were once let loose upon,

the heirs of the dismissive,

the prayers of the strong,

the prison yard politics,

to which we each belong,

but who will check the archives?

who will search when we are gone?

what craft can be created,

to out-do what we have done?

we divide ourselves,

by continental shelves,

we make war and carry on,

in a pattern of regret,

we somehow forget,

to protect the common bond,

to nurture what remains,

between every human being

we are such monstrosities,

walking, talking blasphemies,

without a thing to lean upon,

and in the end of everything,

the same ancient dust,

is deep within all of us

what we’ve evolved from

a history so long,

who will be left here,

when our time has come?

to reconstruct

so much stardust,

into solid human bone?