Time Capsule Poem by Laurence Overmire

Will the ink
Pressed to the page
Remain
Indelible
Centuries hence when
No one understands
The meaning of blood words
On black paper

Who will know
What thought passed through
The fingers holding
A blunt instrument
To the crooked forehead
Of eternity

Who will ask why
Something wasn't done
And not done, lost
Never again to return
To the birthing place
Of origin
Where possibility became
Its own answer

Let the ink dry
And let its song
Sink
Slowly
Like the moon
Caught in the drift of
The mountain's long shadow
Deep in the crevice of
Darkening night.

~ Laurence Overmire

(Previously published in Report From X-Star 10, Indelible Mark Publishing,2009)