transmigration

Some instances of days insist on memory
Until we forget through the passage of time
Or through the passing of our own time
And recollection resides amongst the dead
And meaning and sense of meaning is lost

Events are history, and history is the passing of human kind
Histories cry out for monuments and statues
That now we pass by on the corners of our cities
Never now wondering or questioning or understanding
And all understanding and the sense of understanding is lost

These are days recalled only by the aged whom we have forgotten
Or remembered in tears by the grieving mother
Who in weeping is no longer a mother, but sterile and childless
Dreaming dreams of times and laughter that never transpired
And devotion and the sense of devotion is never regained

John Adams