The Red Chair

What will remain when civilization is gone,

  When the trees shed their leaves on quiet ground,

     And whispers no longer travel in the breeze?

    What will remain when the shadows disappear,

       From our sights, from our hearts, from our minds?

So careless are we to make fortresses of stone,

Which linger long after caregivers die.

So careless of us to assume the remains
Will rot like dead flesh, and blend with the Earth,
in carbon like ribbons that shred over time.

What will remain when civilization is gone?
Where will our souls rest when our spirits get tired,
When our feet no longer wander too far?
Clothed in red vinyl unfit for the end,
The chair waits,
Alone by the window,
For us.

                                                - T. M. Crone

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The Red Chair was brought to you in conjunction with Magpie Tales.  Read more vignettes and poems from writers prompted by the red chair.