The Ides of March on the Left Bank

The waters of the Seine flow swiftly by
Dead souls and bodies perish where they lie
Civilizations grow while people die
And all we give them is a wounded sigh.

They built our world in layers, stone by stone
Brought forth in hardship,bone by bone
We eat their fruit for free, do they condone
By feeding us, do they their lives atone?

Muse not! We make our meanings in this life
And harvest psychic fruit by our own strife,
Together here and now we wield the scythe
And cut each other with the self-same knife.

Our skulls contain an infinite jest
Say those who knows its finite puzzle best
Our death is necessary to our quest
Who bears the burden s(he) is truly blessed.