100 Years Project Anthology

The year is 2022,
I’m writing this poem to prove
That I was alive once,
- just once - it’s true.
No AI arranged these letters,
Nor a government spy,
Brainwashing masses.
Whatever I did, was of my time and
If not right, forgive me.
In hindsight, it was wrong
But I didn’t live that long
Not enough to read, and know
Unwritten code, carved in gold,
Moral heights beyond my reach.
100 years from now,
I’m no longer a person.
Just words on a page,
A product of my culture.
A short century - or less -
I’ll be gone, rotted flesh.
Humans die but art is immortalised.
To displace dread of death
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