In the dust of desert sands,
Among the ruins of arrogant men,
The pages of time are still written,
Where waters flowed, the dry bed aches,
Buried beneath millenniums forgotten, lost,
Dreamers sleep, soul to soul, bone to bone,
You will not know me, nor I you,
I am because, I was and will ever so be,
Though the earth may split asunder,
The mud bricks may crumble and disappear,
The knowledge on plaster walls unknowable,
Know this: the calamity of this past,
Will become the work of your future,
To be buried by the ritual of your passing,
Joining all that were before,
Consumed by the creatures and the soil,
Sleeping the endless, godless sleep,
Of having been, and nothing more.
©2014, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 