Look Under L

Covered by innovation
The vault of sight takes on a cancer
Its only purpose, to dawdle

If I were to take you twelve ages past
Your sight would lie at the drip of an arrow
Without chance to ponder your next breath

So where do we look for the write height
Further back, when history first noted its echo
Three days from now, in a waiting room
Or a minute ago, when you started this poem

Words like these expound if read
Via souls of troubadours long thought dead
Or with rhythms stuck in guttural caves
Of people too afraid to utter my name

As if I would extinguish descripting
A drop in the hivemind of culture
Unnoticeable in the pond
Save to those outside of time