By: Ben Bielert
The hunters of Lascaux,
pillars of the Parthenon,
Sistine’s celestial scene,
Towering Empire State,
humanity’s will has distilled.
Every person putting mark to paper,
shaping some aspect of the world,
is saying ‘”we were here”, needing to.
We’re hypoxic astronauts shouting
into the vacuum, praying for an echo.
Most shattering and damning belief,
of pure, unadulterated oblivion.
We fear two things: something and nothing.
The great hunter
haunted, daunted, by
the unknown and annihilation.
Rising to the top of an outdated food chain.
we triggered the obsolescence of our world.
A great architectural wonder
breaking at a fault,
tectonic plates collide.
We rage like chimps captured and prodded.
Our presence dictates all will end,
if we shout loud enough can we resist?
Our resonance must reach the right pitch.
Any who have thought knows it all ends,
but we need not hit that note until stars die.
Immortality can’t soften the shadow.
Lascaux’s caves will crumble, as all the rest.
Our words will silence and the night will come,
but the goal has never been to resist the night.
It was to make the day as bright as possible.
Like this? Check out my profile on allpoetry.com at https://allpoetry.com/Bloody_Well_Write.
Bloody Well Write 