If not on rocks, then on concrete; we revere our dead ancestors. Our work, an imprint of our giant step.
So pure our memory, bare a land of many properties. Contrarily, if we pour libation on the ground, we offer language. If we offer language and a mother, then there must be no God. Humanity: realistic concept born to a breeding slave with no legs.
Who am I. Who are you.
Our present, spirituality from speculation. I : I – don’t know who I am. Mirroring to an eternal return; with no presence or gratitude.
What do we truly leave behind? I word you or prejudice.
By Karinna A. Gulias
|Burial area at Calverton National Cemetery.|