Mass Extinction Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

They studied the records that had been found
Carved on marble slabs in the burial ground.
The slabs turned and broken with the passage of time
Provided a glimpse of history in a scripted line.

Most had a name long lost, forgotten
With dates that must surely have been of significance,
Perhaps a birth and death for most where there?
Then the cryptographer discovered that in fact they were.

Maybe a verse in a long lost tongue
Words of wisdom, perhaps to some.
But mostly just a depression in the ground
Was all that remained where they were found.

A burial site set aside to revere the lost one
That for the moment lived, then was gone.
Yet no clue to the where and why did it occur
And yet, it seemed that after one year, never more.

Something must have swept the civilization away
As surely as the coming of the break of day.
Perhaps this explained the jumble of bones
That existed in what may have been their homes.

The DNA evidence seemed to point to a mutant strain
That ran rampant through out the land.
A bit of code that perhaps was inserted
In such a way that nature's defenses were thwarted.

An epidemic of mass extinction surely swept the land
In the short life of this early man
A civilization, if that is what it was called
Had grown protective of one and all.

And must have thought that saving a life
Was worth endangering all to unknown strife.
Some must have been spared at great expense
Risking others; it made no sense.

Yet there was the record of the scientist's call
Preserved in the stone of the graveyard's pall.
An epidemic spread far and wide
There was no place for man to hide.
Old and young of all the sexes
Perished from this new nexus.
The mutant strain of DNA
With a sister plague ruled the day.

Tuberculous, the culprit, as evidenced in preserved lungs
The killer that spared no daughters; no sons,
And swept through the populous like a tsunami
In this, a brief moment of infamy.

Now monuments of rusted steel
And concrete, with a stone like feel
Remain to testify
That all had to die.

From the misbegotten ideas of scientist few
Who assured all, they knew what to do.
Alas, they perished with the rest,
Going to their false gods without protest.

Now the archeologist turned away,
Knowing what had ended civilization in that day.
And in her notes, carefully written,
Committed to paper, thoughts often forbidden.

'Trust me, I know what I am doing.
Must have been their undoing,
As they played god in their own way
Not knowing what the other God might say.

And politicians knew not or didn't care,
Time in the sun, they didn't want to share.
And journalist (if that is what they were called) with no knowledge
Were ensnared in this bit of poisoned porridge.

The slate wiped clean in the extinction
Perhaps was of another God's invention.
Permitting the race to rise again
With more wisdom, or will it happen, once again? '

Note: AIDS as it sweeps the world carries with it a far greater threat, a mutant form of TB that is antibiotic resistant.