Erased from History

Many assholes dream of immortality,
making an indelible mark on this world.
Most of us just want to live,
admire the perfect blue gradient the sky sometimes is,
play music, cook something tasty,
laugh hard once in a while.

Overbearing assholes want everything —
they want to own that perfect blue gradient,
devour all they see.
they build monuments to themselves
and hire guards to beat people
who lean against the monument
or look at it with insufficient awe.

My people have no graves.
killed wholesale,
there was nobody left to bury them.
A tiny handful
lived to have headstones,
four grandparents,
my parents,
the rest
as the world said of them at the time
“fuck ’em.”

Nobody alive now even knows their names.

In ancient Egypt
the rulers were chosen by the gods.
when the gods withdrew their favor from
one dynasty
and bestowed it on another,
workers from the new dynasty
would go into the tombs of the earlier rulers
and scrape their faces off the walls of the tombs
erasing them from history,
fucking up their afterlives.

It’s hard to feel sorry
for motherfuckers who walked on carpets
made of living human bodies,
but I know the feeling
of being written out of history

My concern is not for a time to come
it is for now,
the time remaining
to each of us right now,
that lush wink of a cosmic eye.

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