Ancient Fires

The clock ticks on while the city swallows the stars
(quite similar to the ones just barely breathing in our bones
for we were all stars once)
but when a star goes up with your wish
in the ancient fires stoked by Adam and Eve
and that damn snake that screwed over nudity
we expect a reincarnation-
a new friend or child or genius
to tell us what to think
and in that anticipation of rebirth,
we hardly notice as our teachers die.
Not that they all taught us math or history,
but kindness and humor are subjects too
taught by mentors who should be missed
but aren't.
Their subjects are growing dusty in the storage
stacked like hongkongliving
to make way for the trillion dollar poverty
our children might one day be proud to call home.
We are the old bones called new by the relics,
calling the kids' bones "fresh"
while the clock ticks on.
Fresh is the anthem of the change that incites us;
we forgot our crimes from the day
so make way for the same havoc we wreaked
with that sneaky snake
throwing sacred pits in sacred pits
disturbing ancients from a lost culture
who would call these hooligans "fresh" too, if they knew.
You are a force the mountains fear
disturbing puddles the great fraud Jesus played in to pass the time
puddles that are wider than the sky
that you cannot feel, taste, or see
But the clock ticks on as we rush from place to place
and clock ticks on while we sit singing this song
of frustration and anticipation
while it slips our minds
that these kids we despise and the teachers we forgot
sang the same song too
it's deja vu for the relics who cannot see
or they'd look down to remind us
we're from the same batch of rookies
cause there is just enough stardust to go around.

Reviews

[Desert Dreamer]

We need to remember. This culture has forgotten the important things in life. An excellent poem!