The Last Tribe on Earth
Poetry X Music
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It's hard to imagine, now The hardships they endured To get this far - those who got This far, still not far enough To outdistance the cannibals Marbled orbs, pallid and childlike The nightmares of ad hoc abattoirs Besetting like blight and fog The upright and tailing smell Of disease, pinch of hunger And death, so many that May Death come to you Became a felicitation But far enough To survive, those who survived Less like a choice With each nightfall and sunrise Requiring neither Apology nor reason They were simply Proof of a primal idea Even if joy was absent In those jagged mornings With dust wiggling inside chests And abscesses visible and within There was so little beauty And warmth was wealth But there was movement Always movement A form of expression Containing the possibility Of grace. There were seeing Eyes and calculations Of intent, which meant there Could be desire, and sorrow And in the narrowest of margins A needle of sentiment Like a single sprout of moss. During the interminable winters They took turns huddling And isolating the diseased Nurturing the weak - the people We were all slowly becoming In the congealed, sticky air of summer There was conversation, exploration Consideration of applications Migration, and breeding What the elders called prayer With action, giving reply To the devil inside each. There were nihilists who preached Humanity got what it deserved Argued against propagation Mumbling and self-declaiming Until they saw starvation Was teeth, and that it eats. There were citizens who cradled faith Privately and silently In the act of doing Women and mothers, heroes Of untold stories. There were hermits Who burrowed even after the skies Cleared, who denied light As their forebears denied reason There were artists Who created a new genre of art In the form of dying And there were poets, those who knew There is poetry contained in glances That cannot be carried by any word For a while, many years No one spoke of the children Who roved the premises Bug-eyed and walnut-faced It was difficult to love them Those physical outcrops of our mistake Harder still because we suspected They would - those who could - grow up To become our future Reap rewards without Paying the horrors But it was unlawful to deny a child So the only neglect was silence And a particular form of Aslant, inquisitive gaze And what of love? We must admit it existed Through motions That grew repetitive, less Fraught for the repetition Love is sort of what sprung up First from the caretakers In the form of a guileless touch Then embedded into stories Amid the extraneous adjective And then amongst the rest of us Who stopped to point out a thing Not there before This period was called The Exhumation Relearning, digging up Old sayings like the one About how it takes a village It was still not safe outside But in time the bandits Murderers, and rapists Lost their motivations Loss Was the constant, So reliable that rituals To commemorate loss Lost their meanings Two generations or so later The tribe began losing The very meaning of danger Only then were our stories recorded For only then was death resurrected Eternal villain in the tales we tell Only then did children listen With the intent of retelling They had scraped the bottom But were now back on the up Swing down the long tunnel Of history, unsure if gravity Pulled them toward destruction Or a new morning. On most nights It was enough to look up and know Salvation, God's first light, Was constant. But it is far To reach it, we have to burn Everything
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"The Last Tribe on Earth Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 11 May 2024. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric-lf/5330275/Poetry+X+Music/The+Last+Tribe+on+Earth>.
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