Long the Years

Long, the years,
so far beyond,
when life started,
in a scummy pond.

Is this now,
what I see,
when studying
about Biology?

Were you then,
so, pleasure bent,
your skeleton,
had been wrent?

What ugly words,
I am writing now.
My mind says, when,
my hand says how.

Can these words,
simply be,
the final days
of our history?