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Civilization
Scant scribbles writ on disused pages
Long lost memories of ages
Holding sadnesses and rages:
But who now understands them?
And who now reads or scans them?
They lie there, wasting, writing, dying,
Emptied of meaning, outside of time,
Filling a vestigial storehouse and lying
There cold and unfeeling and unfelt by life.
All through the Earth’s long building
Its empires and their rescindings
There have been lost arts living:
And who now searches for them?
Who now listens? Who cares?
hey! i for one like reading "scant scribbles writ on disused pages"... i think some people call this kind of thing a 'book' or something? anyway, this poem is alright, but it doesnt have enough action. i think the books need to attack their readers... you know, like clamp shut on their noses or something. that would rock.