Poem: The Death of Gods

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An ancient temple stands by
overgrown with prayers past
the air goes still and quiet
steps worn smooth by pilgrim feet.


The chanting echoes in the fog
Sound carries so long and far
echoes vibrate back in time
plays tricks on human ears.


Faded ink on the walls
used to be enamel and gold
names and deeds of gods
no longer spoken by the living.


No more material riches
to the victor go the spoils
The earthly treasures fuel ambition
the spiritual remembers every second.


Cracks in stone and concrete
Weeds become their cloak
Nature returns all to its cradle
gathers all souls in Her arms.


History is soft and fleeting
Memory is short and fading
Only the dead recall the long ago
we can't ask them for answers. 

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