Diamonds and Glass

Documents and rage against the death of will.
Found in glass jars buried in the ground,
Dated before glass and writing was thought to even exist.
Things always have a way of being here always,
When concerned with the great acts of Humanity, of Life.
The ground of course was the memories of myself in the womb.
Candles and great machines, plowing the roads free of fallen snow,
before there was even the knowledge of what snow was in my breast made of ribs of glass.
Snow piled high,
so high there was no top to it save to look at the stars which no pile could ever block out,
Save for the will for it to do so.
And I rage against its doing so it does not.
And the stars almost outshine my eyes... Almost.
But I was and am so bright in the womb,
with walls papered with documents against the death of said will.

©2000DavidCaplan