An Idea Whose Time Has Come

We are not the originals.
None of us are.
These paths were trodden
by millions before
like crabs - the color of sunset,
scuttling on glistening shores.
 
The yesterdays
sipped from those streams,
sat on those sun-warmed rocks,
slept beneath charred trees of an old forest fire,
and stared at an indifferent fragment
of the Milky Way.
 
We are not the originals.
It's a burden
far too heavy
to bear.
Accept
we are perched on shoulders
of giants,
reliving those moments,
those ideas,
those passions
just one more time.
 
From such vantage point
I could see
the many before
and many after
from the beginning of time
to the final hush.