January 24, 2014 § Leave a comment

With weathered hands and downcast eyes
he carefully collects the days, weeks,
years and decades, balancing
this unbearable expanse of time
atop his hunched shoulders, his task unrelenting
it grows with each passing day
a burden taken with vigilance and care
for if small pieces should slip from his grasp
he is chided by those who remember
and punished by those who forget
but he is only one and we are many, and as his accounts
of the facts and stories and lifetimes and fictions and lies of millions
become blurred and inky with time
he must let the insignificant, sodden bits
float to the ground, for his muscles tire
and his mind becomes cluttered
and he worries for his sanity, because what he has seen
is far too much for any one man to bear himself
and those small pieces, released from his steadfast hold
become dusty and yellowed and torn
as the weight of days and weeks and eras
trample them underfoot, until they are forgotten
and erased from pages of timeworn tomes
indistinguishable to even the spirits
who still wander the earth
unrecognized and foreign to all
except to the man with the weathered hands and downcast eyes
for History never forgets.


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