Heartless

Impoverished scribes of history
weave foaming seas of literature,
yet the creator they invoke
is nothing but formless dust.
 
No fear—
our history is drenched
in fevered tales,
yet who will settle the debt
of those ancient dwellers,
whose lives remain untold?
 
Those who long to narrate
seek only wealth,
tasting the coin instead of truth,
buying and selling
the flavor of your being.
 
But on this path
understanding never blooms.
Chronicles written half-heard,
half-known,
fuse into false unity,
wasting years in vain.
 
One day—
our houses filled with
wasted words,
literature and history alike
will stand stripped bare,
and human nature itself
will turn heartless.