History Repeating Persistent Patterns
Most of us will miss our rightful place
in the Book of History. If we do achieve its ink,
probability proclaims we merely will be
an endnote, a footnote, or a nameless allusion.
Few get a headline, let alone a chapter. Some,
fed on the illusions of exceptionalism, self-love
and been told since birth that they are
extraordinary, discover this truth as a tragedy.
Yet, to go missing from the Book of Life
tasting the acrimonious sourdough straight
out of the hundreds of degree heat or popping open
a petite syrah colored like the purple of Ceasar’s
robe, yellows or reds our green leafs in preparation
for falling. But, is distracting our future offspring
from their dreams of importance really a requiem
of suffering? I mean I remember when I started
school, age six with coke bottle glasses, I want to them all
to like me. Strange, I can’t recall any of their names.