The Inheritors Poem by Mark Sauer

When the Last Man dies, and those drifted ones
Born just beyond the closing threshold, changed,
Gather at his obsequies, mutant sons
And daughters with new souls, new eyes, and strange
Tongues, what songs will they sing in elegy?
Will it be music in scales we might ken,
Or shall they have transcended melody
To some new communion, these aftermen?
Shall the changelings even note our passing?
Did we mourn the last Neanderthal, or
Were we heedless in our proud surpassing
As we erased our soul's progenitor?
When new eyes wake, heirs to a holocaust,
Can the fresh, raw world know what has been lost?