carbon

the ground is not impartial in what it retains
you cannot know if your story has been scribed
until you are gone and no one will tell it
not even the earth
she will not have you buried in her soils
nor sunken into her waters
the atmosphere is too choked with other ambitions
the wind cannot carry words unspoken
and young hands cannot save a history unburied
and i cannot grieve your life lived
and you could not find me by a name unused,
the carbon in it halving and halving and halving until all they could say is
something lived, here, once

Reviews

[Relic]

I suppose the only way we could know if our story has been scribed after death would be to return as a curious spirit. I like the ending to this. It reminds me of those tombstones that are too old to be deciphered.

[blt]

yeah, kind of! i was thinking about old archaeological sites that are poorly preserved and all that can be gleamed from them is that someone, at some point, was there. wise words from a relic, thanks for the review!