A Whisper on a Wall

The Last Neanderthal's Final Moments

Photo by Mike Leyder on Unsplash

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Press Play to hear me perform the voice over!

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Deep in the bowels
Of the cave’s blackened cavern
He grinds charcoal
From his final fire

In the perfect dark
Echoes a stalactite’s drip,
The rhythm, 
	his deprived eyes use,
To shower his vision,
With stars and lights.

He dabs, 
	his fingers
He smears,
	the patterns
He paints, 
	the spirits to the wall

Alone—
He waits,
	For death
To be reunited,
	To be complete
With his kind.

Like footprints,
Hardened in mud,
He leaves himself behind.

Marks no soul can read
Alone—
	he proclaims
“I was here.”

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Markers

Memories of The Lonely Sapien

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