Depleted idols,
shorn subtitles,
fading vitals
rudely reappear.
Undermined by their kind,
loveless, blind,
unwound of mind,
their outlines are not clear.
Relinquishing the pace,
the human race
may lack the tact
of moral grace.
And, slowly, they dissolve.
There’s no one to absolve.
The gods won’t ever find
this hiding place.
A slowly moving river,
cold as shiver,
moves their sand out to the sea.
They’ve lost all implication
from a torn and battered nation
which at one time called them royalty.
How the mighty quickly fall
should well remind us all
that time is really nothing but a ruse.
When night obscures their lines
and their memory designs,
all that’s left behind
is history’s bruise.
