no time to read

those glyphs and symbols vanish in the dark
we do not know then what the message said
but wonder at the wait there's wine and bread
to keep us going but gods spare the mark
not one of us could serve as nighttime clerk
to speak in silence words of those long dead
whose bodies rot now but whose minds were fed
by the same forces that provide our spark
allow your listeners the chance to think
that they too might a memory so leave
upon the rock or on the fortress wall
read by those who at the spring might drink
or by the yard gate pause a while to grieve
knowing so well that silence must befall
the chances of a change now seem so small
but each of us when driven to the brink
would know that nothing's left that might deceive
no parchment here that's innocent of ink
but much to hide from those that raid and reave
and all's recorded with a bit of gall
the choice is made we know it's not a game
and yet each hopes the lion will be tame