Icecaveman

He arises in darkness before first light,
Chews on a mastodon morsel and strums
His gut-string lyre.
Later, he peers through the glacial wall
At the nacreous, hot-blooded, cold-tempered world.
The drips and plops of water-drops
Echo throughout his hypogeum;
The stench of old hides and husks prevails.
What is my purpose in life? he wonders.
To inform far stars many eons hence
That a man once lived on this lonely rock?
While millions more teemed and seethed and screamed,
One misanthrope in a hoar-cell dwelt?
Timbers may rot and floors collapse;
A cave lasts longer, but even so,
Time erodes and rearranges.
Examine his body, his sere remains,
And marvel at how the ages destroy
Yet also preserve in niches and nooks
The essence of a particular past.