The Evening Skies Pledge no Continuation for Man...

Some of their crowns read "Est. 1902," "Brook hall - 1890," and "BLDG 4: 1914." They rest gently upon carved sections of earth as silent pillars of societies, events, and eras past. Their hand-laid brick and mortar structures are interwoven with their slab-on-grade foundations in manners of seemingly near immovability and permanence.

They endure against the constant battering from man in his endless attempts at modernization and retrofitting. Even the characteristics of their revered facades stand in relief notwithstanding the layers upon layers of brushed lead-based enamels, rolled latexes, and sprayed exterior acrylics.

I trust that they have compassion upon us as we remove trees from their sides to avoid encroachment issues, as we pave over cobblestone in their courtyards to maximize parking, as we gather and amass nothingness? I trust that they laugh at us as we scurry and rush as time-lapsed insects consuming the land.

Their eastern windows shimmer with the sun's rising, while their western flanks radiate the evening skies' dim scarlets in pledges of their continuation.

Mine, however, is finite if not predetermined.