Unborn Century’s Wall Carvings

We walk beneath screens that molt their colors
like snakes shedding neon skins every hour,
our fingertips scattering messages
as briefly as sparks flung from a grinding wheel.

 
What feels urgent now rushes past
like rain racing down glass,
each alert another bright fish
vanishing beneath the surface of memory.

Behind us, technology sprints in circles,
a clock disguised as a comet,
dragging a tail of obsolete miracles.

Devices bloom and wither
faster than desert wildflowers after a storm,
their promises stacked in invisible strata,
layer upon layer of silicon fossils
cooling beneath tomorrow's feet.

One age from now, perhaps a thousand,
our hashtags and voices will rest in vast vaults
like charcoal bison painted on cavern walls.

Scholars of unborn centuries will brush away dust
from fragments of our electric dreaming,
finding in coded remnants
the fingerprints of longing, wonder, grief,
preserved like insects suspended in amber light.

Yet beyond every archive, Eternity hums.
Its vibrations move through galaxies and veins alike,
renewing worlds as effortlessly
as the tide redraws a shoreline.

Stone became symbol. Symbol became signal.
Signal became a river of living light.
And all we create, however swift its passing,
joins the mysterious pulse forever becoming itself.