Will They Remember Me in a Hundred Years?

Will they remember me in a hundred years?

My mother, my sister, my friends, the people I love, my neighbors, the people I hate
Or is it already too late?
Will I be remembered in a hundred years as somebody, or will my name disappear without trace?
Even the famous ones die and are forgotten with time, what a disgrace
The games I play, the books I read, the movies we watch and the fights we hold,
In a hundred years will they be like the Spanish War only less so a hundred fold?
Guess it doesn’t matter who you are, a nameless nobody or a celebrity generational, they will forget you over the years regardless of how many scandals

The tears I cry right now in a hundred years won't even be vapor, in the interim enough will be shed to fuel a bleary-eyed stupor
Guy cries today and by tomorrow it's dried, the tears shed by those a hundred years ago long unknown, we're indifferent to how hard they tried
Only a few years ago our heyday we had, dots booming, heavily modified cars flying the expressway gantry, movies and games every Sunday like some endless party
But even as we speak right now, they forget it ever happened
They'll especially forget in time the moments we were all so frightened
Will they remember us in a hundred years?
Nothing I do today will remain, it's kinda sad but humanity's refrain
In a reality of limited resources chaos reigns and struggle grows, said the professor whose name in a hundred years computers will be hard pressed to compile from decrepit rows
Political science, social theory and thinking it's quite fucking futile
All I have are memories and the pain of knowing they happened only once, recurring for some other unknown nobody maybe in a while
They too will wonder if they'll be remembered a hundred years later
Or if the more I fight the less it will matter

Will they remember me in a hundred years?

My conflicts, petty problems, desires and poems
The wannabe writer and lost soul, generation brought up on failed promises and no clear goal
There's a lot you can say about having recollections, except from having them you're liable to be getting occasional convulsions
Spasms of heartache and longing, waiting to know if they'll remember you in a hundred years like they remember some villain of pure historical revulsion

Will they remember us in a hundred years?

Will we at least get to be fuel in a car with the tip of the hat, or will technology rob us of even that?
This whole thing is a wash, coz its conclusion's pre-calculated
They won't remember me in a hundred years, as safe a bet as can possibly be promulgated
My mother, my sister, my friends, those who give so much,
The people I love, on them I lean like on a crutch
They won't be remembered and I'll be forgotten, now who's to tell you this life isn't rotten?

Find more by Lee Alon in the Author Index.

Comment on this story in the Aphelion Forum

Return to Aphelion's Index page.