Signature

Feast in the tireless echo of words gone down
a thousand years before, in the scraping of wood
on rock

Painted pictures that meant something once,
now, a mystery for modern day
translators

Somewhere distant, they sat together
alone in a cave
to recall the progression of time

In the imagination, before there were
descriptions for catastrophe
or accomplishment

There's the code, follow it across
the repetition the repetition
look now, the tiny tattoos everywhere

Scars all over these finger tips
screeching lifeblood, the signature
the forgotten