Petroglyphs

I see the relics left behind
by those from a forgotten time.
Gifts from a dark and primal past,
linger, though they're fading fast.
The legends and the stories told
by dreamers from the days of old
engraved in memories of stone,
outlasting breath, out living bone,
which stand in testament to all
who hear new generations call.

What will we leave for those who come?
What legacies have we begun?
Will children of those distant years
still comprehend the joys and fears
which shaped our lives on this small earth
in centuries before their birth?
What little treasures, left behind,
will stir the curious of mind
to question what has gone before
and what the future holds in store?

What of songs and deeds and truth
will have survived times grueling proof
to tell our heirs of we who've passed
and of the dreams we hoped would last?
How will they, then, perceive us now?
Will they look back and question how
we could have been so blind, so wrong
to stop this deed or still that song?
Or will they thank us with full heart
for richer lives, for purer art?

Will they, when sifting through the dust,
uncovering but bones and rust,
not understand the soul, the fire,
the hope, the dream, burning desire
to step beyond our daily bond.
The thirst for knowledge well beyond
the paltry quota now our fare.
Or, knowing, will they even dare
remember us who've passed the torch
or dare pass it to the next watch.