We march these empty fields

Within our crowded minds

Searching for the remnant

Of culture left behind;

But what we find is puzzling,

A nature quite veneered,

Reflected in the eyes of those

Native to the year

We are carbon. Hydrogen and oxygen

And a pocket full of nitrogen.

We are life and death.

Part of everything we love and hate

We remember, the carbon of the past

With every pump of gas;

A breath of life, and fumes of death.

Strangers in a common plot,

Our paths unto the same un-end,

We find each other, quite unknown,

Until we must defend

That which makes us all the same,

Cultured in our ways;

That cosmic bind that finds in us

Life beyond our days.


History is an encounter,

Written for today,

Revealing what we’re meant to see

And how we want to play.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s