A poem about how history is forgotten.
| History’s Lament
Symbols painted on the walls of caves; hunts remembered, seasons recalled.
Lines etched into baked clay; stories told, legends preserved.
Pen and ink make knowledge spread; laws for all to see, wisdom passed from age to age.
What went before could be known; lessons could be learned.
Eyes in the present now so blind to the past; ignorant of mistakes once made.
Those who remember shout their warning; unhearing, youth charges forward into the black.
The elders who lived and struggled point to the path. The young go astray.
What is past is not prologue. It is now and it is later.
Oh, what folly it is to forget; effort, letting pain and sacrifice go to waste.
Lament that fools do not know; what was is, and again will be.