Sodden, gray.
Humid mists.

Beneath the watch of the gods
looming cosmic,
eyes wide.

Trespassing disallowed,
no foot allowed on sacred stone.

Families, tribes, friends gather.
A market place on ancient ground created.

The wise men of old
curate the history of the ancestors,
coyly dodge around trick questions.

Deep thrumming in the ground,
distant earthquakes.

Walk among the pillars,
erect phallus of ancient stone.

Temples hush in ceremony,
shamans meditate and revere the great past.

In the burial ground of warriors,
ghosts say hello, encouraging the inception
of the spirit, the omniscient voice of the land.

Before getting lost,
walk among the trees.

The howl of wild animals fabricated
for profit shear the soundscape.

Birds sing, insects among the chorus,
electricity the conductor of this symphony
energizes the body, makes for constant contact
with the history of the soul, makes it easier to remember
the stories and secrets, to create the world.

A year away from the galactic center
where the solstice becomes a snake
souls return to visit lands of distant memory.




“Ruins” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.



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