I wonder what those future archaeologists will think
of these derelict towers and rusted iron
smokestacks jutting from the ancient earth
and what stories the anthropologists will spin
of the meaning these factories once held
a place of worship, they’ll say
a religious center, a communal gathering
and they won’t be far off
perhaps not in function, but in deed
implication and memory
what carried us to slave and to belch toxic fog into the pristine blue
worship of man, worship of nature
of competition, in the guise of the pursuit of excellence
excuses, excuses
but a religion nonetheless
sacrifices dragged down from the heavens, torn out of the earth
brought under a paper knife on an altar of bones
to make communion with Ozymandias
the distant future will know our flaws, even without every scrap of the fact
funny how the truth stands forever
and bodies rot in dirt, far after minds follow the same well-trodden path to decay
was it worth it?
will it ever be?
this twisted metal, a monument to our sins or our salvation?
Yet what is salvation if you don’t need to be saved.
