Prehisteria

I stared at the creature before me,

a living relic of prehistoric times.

Leathery, wrinkled skin stretched tight

over brittle bones that creak with movement.

Yellowed teeth worn down with time and hunger

fill a gaping maw that continuously opens and shuts,

emitting strange noise, a constant droning,

somewhere between a grumble and a growl.

Staring at this aged being, I wonder

at the centuries it has survived,

how history oozes from every pore,

and ancient secrets swarm above with a silent hum.

How vast the knowledge stored inside must be,

if only one could communicate and master the mournful drone.

Surrounded by similar creatures, younger and impatient,

each attempting to escape that seemingly omnipotent gaze.

The creature is quick to spot the lazy or restless,

those sleeping or rustling few who dare to defy the rules

of etiquette long established and set into motion.

Creeping slowly back and forth before others,

pacing with the steady movements of one who innately understands

the value of time, and knows that there is more than enough

in which it may bestow its wisdom, wanted or not.

Eventually, all begin to rustle, to peel away from the group,

one by one, two by two, till again it sits alone before me.

It turns its worn, haggard face towards me,

opening its large orifice in a final attempt to relay

an ever-important bit of wisdom hurriedly, barely coherent,

before I, too, depart. “Remember to read chapters 7, 12, 14, and 21 in Social Fabrics and chapters 8 through 15 in your History text.”

“Will do sir.”

Window

I sit and stare out the window of my room,

watching showers of gold dance

towards inevitable death upon the angry shadows

of man-made concrete malevolence.

Torrents of life fly through the air,

soil torn from peaceful slumber by destruction.

Dead and dying fingers of trees more aged than time

litter the restless path walked by troubled youth.

Trees moan in agony as they tilt and topple,

shattering.

Broken illusions lie side by side

with torn hearts and twisted dreams

upon the pavement, given no more thought

than the discarded cans and bottles

from foolish attempts at forced merriness.

Sorrow and solitude are masked by false gaiety;

the rush of long sought independence

clouds reason and forethought.

Among the forest carcass, callously raped and demolished,

walls of change are built.

Dreams and hopes will dwell in these halls,

some to grow, some to die, some to fade away and be forgotten.

Youth comes to learn of life, yet still oblivious to the death

surrounding that they call home.

I watch out my window, wallowing in the scent of leaves

changing from green to gold, seeing knowledge ripen

to foolishness, then to fade again to realization

of how little knowledge there is.

Much can be learned

from a window, safe behind the glass, without having to risk

the terrors of life.

Safe in my walls of knowledge, secure

in my invulnerability, I sit and watch.

I turn and stand,

stepping out the door.