In the televised entertainment.
The palimpsest always fades in the sun.
But now the people notice
How the past has changed, that it once
Was something different.
It seems that we are changing
But how could that be?
The hills have buried everything
But memories,
The wars have gone to seed
In thickest grass
That waves in unison
Like scythes of cavalry
And sings a few words only
Of Gods no longer believed
And heroes at the end of their stories,
Some anecdote to hum
Inside the villages
To help them bear the present
Of the green waste harvest,
Old toys disposed discreetly,
The sweet potato roots
And what to do with them.
The histories are forgotten
To make way for other histories
Yet unknown
From more distant rings of creation
You hadn't known your part in,
Where tiger-headed bipeds merge with your mind
And giant spider eyes
Are overcome with feeling
And philosopher reptiles think your thoughts away.
They all have myths and languages
Crying to become the same
As what you're learning
Of your divided self, part earthly,
Part divine,
No way to choose between,
But a kind of reckless faith,
Not knowing
As the road to finding out.
