for the transient ones

neolithic fires, labor lit
and weary warm, fabled
the starless grot sky
where cave drawings
of spears laid waste
to beasts slain bloody.

and in Babylon
they carbon scribed
civilization on papyrus,
reeds harvested from
the earth's black mire.

even the mountain voice
found a Moses to stand
with open ears and hands
holding twin tablet words
writ for the hearts of men.

but we wear the wrinkles of our fathers,
the efforts of age we never thought
to fold in between parchment pages
all while a senescence howl whirl
haunts about the once sacred temples
of our minds and leaves us sepulchers
without words or epitaphs or legacies.