Bespoken

One man went to the light.
One stayed.
Caved.

This is not a story.

One walked.
He grew in sight,
Memory was in him
a lace of selfish trails,
Until he became what he saw:
The cold tips of a fore bearing
Tracing what he can’t remember.

One remained.
To grow in memories
gifted to him. An existence
In his ancestry to cling to-
His mind walks.
Eternal.

Everything we know
We took.
It is only our nature.

The man in the light
looks to the man remained.
Through glass he refutes resemblance
to what gave him this brain,
That designed his own chaos.

We are led in imitation.

Sight streams in what we can’t see
And that man remains.
He saw us forgetting.

Through the shade of glass,
We have.

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