1. Next
The last remaining sapien, today passed on.
A bird, a squirrel, many insects observed.
A first, since so long ago way back in time,
Bird called, not sang, and no person heard.
For what, sapien did die? Who knows, who cares?
Is there a “who”, anymore? No men, women.
A we? A who, a what, a you or an I?
Is “what” more like we mean? New phrase comes in.
What’s next? No one is here to watch what’s next.
Scurry and crawl, run climb, sliver and plod.
Don’t they want hope and trust in what they see?
Not one of these creatures believe in God.
At last, no war, no peace and there’s no greed,
Ideas have gone away for good reason.
Rust turns to dust, abandoned buildings sleep.
Replaced by leaves and grass for this season.
Brinkinfield 