And what are they taught?
These children of the lost time?
Their knowledge once data that is now sand in deserts – fragments,
chips of truth, waste. But what have we
taught them? What have we taught them?
Can they hunt? Can
they pilgrim days, weeks, and seasons to the sea and return with dinner for the
frozen time? Can they make fire to steal
the damp from stone? Do they know green
to eat, a fair trade, a solid roof? Do they know anything of being human in a
vengeful storm? Can they outrun the
finger of God and the roar of his breath on the land? I beg they are not static enough to have
forgotten all their ancestors bled for.
What have we taught them? Speech – the written word that may
prove to outlive all? Have we left them
clean water, seed, desire. Know they
love? To birth in the wee hours of a damp dawn.
Can they protect, hide, and fight.
Can they sow seed as well as sew their own flesh? Do they even fucking dream anymore?
Will our words outlive plastic or will that be all that is
found in the After Time? Pray for our
children and their soft hands, soft hearts – teach them to weather, for whether
they will or whether they won’t; they will weather, whether they want to or not. That sun only knows dawn no matter how broken
– and you can choose to see it or not.
You only conquer by continuing.
Can they continue when weary?
Know they letters, words, do they babble? And what when the commerce is gone? When all that is false fails and truth of
hand to mouth & a warm bed rings true?
What of options when today is the only heartbeat they may know? And tomorrow a dreamless sleep away.
Will they become strong again in true light, salted wind,
and a rain that washes clean? Not even Darwin could tell. There will be no science; our created reasoning
will not comfort us. Hold fast children
and hope your stock is sturdy for nothing else will see you through.
Glass from lightening
Safety from the moon
Dig as deep as you can…and remember ...because it is all there.
