Beneath our feet, a whisper grows,
Of lives compressed to sediment.
Their triumphs, fears, and overthrows
Form the ground on which we're resident.
We build our towers, sleek and tall,
Atop the ruins of yesterday.
Pretending that we've heard the call
To break free from history's sway.
But in our veins runs ancient blood,
Our thoughts shaped by forgotten hands.
Try as we might to stem the flood,
The past seeps through in grains of sand.
To move ahead with open eyes,
We must first face old lullabies.
Confront the myths that comfort brings,
And listen as the bedrock sings.
-me
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