Old Poem

I search for myself in old poems
old poems that I once wrote.

How much information can a fossil give?
Bring down books with a thousand pages,
line up the test tubes,
fill them with colored liquid.
The chemical reaction is a recipe
follow it carefully.
and if the dust permits,
you will know the age of the dead specie.

The flickering screens will come to life,
fingers will animate,
and kids will clap,
We know how it moved, ate, mate and slept.
We will feel satisfied.

If the past is gone,
present still taking form,
and the future a dependent cripple.
What exactly is mine then,
what exactly is me?

Lets start spitting to make a pool,
one day it will flow,
it will move like the river does,
and meet the sea eventually.

Lights Camera Action
Sense will find us on its own,
an explanation will grow.