the dust of
our fathers
rests below
the skin.
every misgiving
is there to be
peeled away
until the rot is
exposed to
dry the
disease.
every wrong
made suddenly right.
every wrong suffered
through the next
generation to rise.
and we are left
to sort out the
deception,
to make
it good again
or to fallow each
of their
steps and keep
the deformity
alive.
we've not done well
by our predecessors.
we're slowly gaining
insight into the scheme.
at a slow pace, we
sort through
the dirt
below
the flesh and
down into the bones,
dragging broken
nails there
against the
marrow
until we find the
root of
their
treachery.
and it seems
we have a long
way
to go
before we
can call
ourselves
human
once more.
but hope is never truly
lost unless
we completely
give in
and allow the nonsense
to continue.
and may their sins
be sorted
through the
Hell
they've made
for us.
so we may not waste
this moment,
shine a light upon
darkened land
to illuminate beyond
the pollution,
past the smog,
and into the eyes
of those to come.
wonder at their pain
a moment
and feel for their
future
and see how it
mimics our own.
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