The Burning Archive I

At last the Grand Inquisitor said: Let the archives burn. The paper of history weighs us down. Virtual memory will be the way from now. A solitary voice rose in protest: With our memories burn our hearts. The Inquisitor acted swiftly: He unleashed fires, controlled and savage, Beneath the store houses, Threw Molotov cocktails in libraries. A billion pages of etched life In minutes, memos, letters - The familiar writing of everyday, Few metaphors, many more lists. Within a day, ten thousand years, And more, gone, gone, gone. The cord that held us to them, A line of white ashen hearts.