Shadow Towers of Choice
by Odin Roark

When time looks back through the ancient fog of remembrance,
how familiar the thrust of the caveman's spear,
the resonance of primal wails,
the echoes buried deep,
cajoling,
pleading,
begging we not abandon the memory of mind.

Yet…

Modern man struts proudly with forgetfulness,
thrusting its chest forward,
wearing arrogance as a medal of honor,
unaware history may be ignored,
but impossible to abandon.

The winds of time
often repeat their message,
seen by some as hurricanes,
tornados,
cyclones,
even the lowly dust storm,
an unfortunate few knowing the fire-storm of Nagasaki.

Still…

We who might never again appreciate yesterday's language
carved on rocks,
walls,
parchment paper,
video screens and
holograms of now,
may be forced someday to face
the burned imprints of nuclear madness,
and then...

A twisted world’s progress might choose to forget,
but time knows we are but today’s modern cavemen,
sleepwalking in hubristic lockstep,
flirting with a chosen fate
along the edge of an abyss.

Few will remember...

History is patient.
Time never sleeps.