official versus private

history is each of us all unknown
generations seem to come and to go
we would not think to dare to pause the flow
from each of us comes a luminous cone
our hearts are bleeding meat they are not stone
each of our lives seems ordinary slow
but others come all lacking what we know
we've come to be much closer to the bone
i've walked with some now names in a dry book
and thought each nothing more than an old friend
and now like gutted candles they've gone out
i cannot now go back for one last look
stories i've learned must all come to an end
and what remains is little more than doubt