Betwixt the furrows of senescent hands, blemishes remain 
etched to tell of myriad triumphs.
Monoliths stand elevated to bear testament of grandeur, 
but, like flesh and all physical things, they will fade.
At dawn the greatest splendor prevails but for a moment 
to emphasize that only change is everlasting.
When the hourglass is inverted and the wretched have 
passed, will descendants peddle the burden of those 
before them?
Time has witnessed copious hierarchies rise and fall; 
adaptations of previous thoughts will continue to thrive 
and perish.
In immutable flux this is an endless cycle, it's how we 
are eternal.