Explosions

Our grandfathers build houses near tamed rivers,
not yet infected by nuclear waste.
Watch them, the miserly, the ravenous, the callous,
the eager craftsmen intent on heritages.
Yet we will erect concrete hourglasses
as marvels of the passing time;
and cyber-terrorism will threaten
to rip apart the sand, compressed so tightly
on once worshipped and toiled soil,
only to unleash death on bloodless vestiges.
And nuclear waste will flow in our rivers in vain.