As we step over the tumbled stone
And scattered masonry, you breathe
The dense dust rising at the hilltop.
An old archway is all that stands,
The rest a shattered temple, mere
Fragments of faith on the earth.
I pick up one piece of our history,
Heavy as guilt in the hand,
And let it drop to clattering silence.
And you believe that the old god watches
Over the world, still, from the sentry tower
Which has long since fallen.