Cuneiform

By | 1 July 2009

Could anyone be bothered pressing these
in clay? Or scratching them in polished stone?
Words once were more than writing, were their own
accomplishment – you didn't read at ease,
you read at work, you dragged them from a field.
Then words were stooked, hand-tied, and lined in rows.
You harvested whatever you could carry.
But now, each day's another dictionary,
a library of untranslated prose.
We weigh the chaff and think we're talking yield.

I don't believe there's anything to say
that someone reading this in 3010
might think was truly worth the waste of clay
except, “I was alive like you. Back then.”

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