A sonnet with intent: "repeating prehistory"

Well, I hope it's kind of clear what my meaning is here.

repeating prehistory


To think we owe our lives to barest fate
might seem a throw to far to make attempt,
and yet we now near-certain know a date
exists when well beyond a nightmare dreamt,
a cataclysm broke upon the Earth
and made a blazing sky ignite the rain.
Dominion fell as waves from fiery birth
cascaded on most distant shores, each chain
of massive ancient lives destroyed; but still
they have not gone, but changed into our birds,
reminders of a kingdom whipped to will
of intersecting orbits. Now just words
describe the dangers we ourselves have made,
creating futures we might not evade.