Riding the Static, Part IV: Inside the Vault

The Vault stands resolute

Against acidic Time.

It must have much to say.

There is much it must have seen.

 

It's steady, stony gaze 

Is all that now remains

To stand guard over nothing;

Duty-bound to stay.

 

What resides within?

It is aching to become known.

What resides within?

 

We rush the beckoning gate,

We push and pry and pull.

Today is a first for the Vault:

For the first time it loses a fight.

 

The darkness confronts us,

Accusing and severe.

Apprehension crawls up our spines:

What has been hidden here?

 

What resides within?

It is aching to be known.

What resides within?

 

We set foot inside,

Our steps unnervingly loud.

The cold sun nips our heels.

The darkness caresses our brow.

 

What's that ahead?

I believe it is light.

The faintest of glimmers:

Thin golden thread.

 

What resides within?

It is aching to be known.

What resides within?

 

With the greatest of caution

We open this new door.

Beyond is a strange old creature,

Back to the wall, sitting on the floor.

 

His flesh is pale and creased,

But his eyes are anything but idle.

"What is this place?", we ask.

His answer comes with a smile:

 

"This is Man's Vault.

It is a reservoir of what we were

Long before the missiles or the disease

Or by both we all were burned".

 

"Who are you?"

 

"I am the Curator, the Chronicler.

This place is of my own work.

I've spent day and night here,

Building it with record, picture and book."

 

"What may we do with it?"

 

"That is for you alone to decide.

The collection must pass to new hands.

My purpose here has been served.

In this present realm I will not much longer bide."

 

On concluding his final, heavy quatrain,

He breathed his long life out.

And the liveliness from out his eyes did drain

 

For several minutes, we stood in silence.

As a weight pulled down on our hearts.

A race had died before our eyes,

And left to us its inheritance.