In An Hundred Years
In an hundred years...
Everything around us will be changed,
And everybody will be dead,
Yet, something will continue...
Will it be, as my radical leftist brother predicts,
The final takedown of Western Civilization?
Will we all rise to pray and face east?
Will we all rise and face nothing but a cup of sustainably-grown coffee?
Will the common people be able to afford coffee?
What will have become of our words, penned
sometimes in ink,
sometimes in blood?
Who will still read us?
Will our great-grandchildren show old, unrotatable, digital photos?
What of those of us who have no children? Will our words survive, even a generation?
Will our poetry be sold, half-price, or clearance?
What footprints will we have left, who built no buildings, saved no lives, ended no tyranny?
Yet, I think we will survive for a generation or two,
For there are always a few who hope to feel something,
To know the grounding reality of shared human experience.
I do not pretend, they will be reading ME,
They will be reading US...
That shrinking crowd that comprises the body of
Our words made corporeal,
And one or two of us, they will remember...
I hope for nothing better than a sea,
And quiet waves that bear away once-me...
Copyright © Andrew Fairchild | Year Posted 2019
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