I stare at the massive collection of your bones, meticulously organized to paint your image, and I’m struck with further curiosity:
Did you wreak havoc like you are portrayed in the movies? Has your reputation been tarnished by the data collected by modern science?
I read the placard that describes things such as your diet, and where you once roamed, but I want to know more:
What did the world look like back then? Did you live in constant fear or exist in harmony?
I stand in your footprint, and gather that you were enormous in size, but I still have so many questions:
Would we have been able to coexist? If you were here today, would you be able to survive in these conditions?
What I’d give to know you better.
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Timothy
My fingers inch closer to the keyboard, itching to obliterate a day's worth of work. It's some of my best writing I've done to date, but at what cost? The words seem to bleed, dripping onto my desk. For a millisecond, I'm sitting in front of a crime scene, looking at dead, begging eyes. Why? Why me?
By Alexandria Stanwyck4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (4)
I feel the same way! Loved your poem. I like to think we could live in peace if people would stop killing everything that scares them. I don't think they wreaked havoc; they just lived their lives like animals now, looking for the food they needed (I guess it could be havoc creating if you need to kill the food). Loved your musings 😊
Omgggg sameeeee! It sucks so bad because there are just so many things that we would never know. Loved your poem!
Good question.
An intriguing meditation upon a life that ended long ago.