Do not wonder about the fate of humans.
Though everything inevitably changes,
some things seem to stay the same.
Perhaps a small portion of humanity
will remain after the great culling,
enough to begin repopulating
the last of the ancient
forests and plains.
They will mix and stir together
meaningful harmonic sounds, creating
new names for themselves, fanciful names
forged from memory strains and hopeful identities.
They will wander from place to ruined place,
locales in search of names to distinguish them
from the wasteland’s emptiness, until at last
they come upon hidden caves with walls
of smooth and cool dark stone.
There they will make a new home.
There, a new order will take shape.
Tentatively at first,
they will mark their new history
on the hard canvas of slate rock walls,
clearing away the serpents, building fires
which blaze defiant through the night.
Eventually, they will gather in larger tribes —
tribes with the best names, the strong names.
First will come tall tales around the flames.
Can religions be far behind?
The new tribes will elevate clever priests
to tell the dreams, reveal laws, and repeat
the old deceits that the people love to hear.
Animals will gaze quietly from the outer distance,
curious, hungry. They’ll be wearing the old faces.
Beyond words, they’ll know what they’ve known
before about the humans. They will be wary.
The priests will say the God is near, they’ll whisper
the name of the God, and his name will be strong,
his name will be mighty, it will be marked high
on the rock walls, above all other names.
They will assure the huddled human herd:
“God is good, God is great, but beware —
the God who gives will also take!”
They’ll whisper the God words, his power
will be strong, her fame will be known,
its name will be on every tongue.
Before eating, all pay respects to the wall.
Afterwards, some may sit together at the fire
chanting the sacred name, the great God’s name,
petitioning for favors — a good hunt, clean water.
They will look about and wonder to each other,
“What a great mystery the Great One is!”
They will be proud of their creation.
In their hearts it will seem special, holy.
Those in their quickened raptures may praise,
shake, raise their arms, or swoon into some heaven.
At night, the God may come in dreams,
that God who rules the deeper imagination.
Mysterious will always be those godly ways.
For another cup of sweet new wine,
poets will sing praises to the Numinous
in words more melodious than true.
Later, in the flickering shadows,
gazing out at the slumbering tribe,
they may turn their face and weep.
Feeling To Infinity 
Sadly prophetic as history keeps repeating itself… until (hopefully) the time comes when humanity evolves to a new level of consciousness. Maybe some eon down the road…
Maybe . . .
Always a pleasure Bro—Bob —to Read your thoughts and insight so true! The evolution of but only some…is well underway. I feel your first few lines are spot on…”perhaps some of them will remain”.
Thank you Brother, hope to see more of your work too!
Oh I am Still writing Bob…but in secret these days. Back to older times…hidden away…giving birth to a page, that might wow me or create something worth sharing again. Situations presented are evolving and a new stage is being set, a theatre of sound and light, thunderous breaking open of heart being reborn.
ps: I absolutely love your recent poetry — between your self and Mazie—-WOW! Such a magical connection and synchronicity found!
Glad to hear you are still writing, it is self-revelatory eh! Mazie & I love to write together, we actually met at an online writing forum, back in the days of Yahoo Groups. I had become discouraged with the whole online scene, as I know you can relate, and I was about to get off the web that day, but then I saw a submission of hers, and I was struck at the heart with an ancient remembrance. A month later we were living together. The amazing and miraculous became our common experience, and has been ever since.