literature

Old Age

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Literature Text

         It was this love of abstract things that would, in the end, be our downfall.
How we had taken so much fault in the stars,
And not in the cities we'd built to be concrete?
But, no, ours was a likeness shared by pharaohs,
And ours is a tomb that will stay buried
       I found that a history written by victors to be endless
           "But our names will never be put in the Bible"


Had we managed to carve our own imprints in each other's consciousness,
Like time had etched grooves into our skin,
Maybe, I could've remembered any fragment more tangible than this illusion:
At some point we were more important than this
       You said that all the losers would remain forgotten
           "I know the devil will greet us like friends"
It's strange, how I can be prophetic.
© 2012 - 2024 theconfusechild
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