Earth is the urn of humanity.
     Every life lived
        passed.

Civilizations,
     encompassed—
layer
     on layer.

Ash to ash:
     all
     beneath us,
        in ruin—
        quiet.

Weight
     without a voice.

We walk the surface,
     unlistening,
        unaware.

What is made
     waits below.

Towers rise—new,
     built upon graves
      of the past.

Their builders
     never foresee
        the ash
           they will be,
              forever believing
              they are
                 outside
                 history.

Echo.
The ground
     does not speak.
It keeps
     what it is given.

Names
     lose their edges.

Time
     closes its hand.

Cities
     forget their height.

Stone
     is patient.

What stands
     will lie.
What lies
     rests quiet.

Remains.

Originally written: 1/23-1/24/2026