Stabbed by darkness
you lay there
amongst left behind things
artifacts from your Past,
tripping you up with constancy
heralding your failure
whispers that come from every corner
of every mouth that ever spoke
against you way back when.
in a future equal
to searing forecasts
and in a cornered life feared most,
your mouth is the only one still moving…
you are an Artifact of the Past
Born into a depression,
dug out through succession
a place in the loam for a seed to grow
growing faster than they could know
roots going deep so you can’t run
yet shallow enough to see the sun.
that came before you
was the harrow,
now is the time to break the narrow…
of a fallow field.
Drop into the furrow
to rise up an Artifact of Hope,
an answered ancestor’s prayer.
The resultant flowering
equal to the spiritual toil
of human history on Earth.
You have been discovered, unearthed,
solely upon a preponderance of progenitors
that the next generation
would have reason for Hope.
You are the past’s Hopes embodied
and the Future’s Past becoming.
No matter which direction you look in,
no matter how many times you fall in,
you are an Artifact of Hope
for all of human kind.