With an alien people clutching their gods,
I should be glad of another death.
T.S. Eliot
I dreamed I was a pillar of sand,
tall and magnificant--what
soul lived in this dirty temple?
Once I walked with the dust,
shaking the earth from my feet.
I saw the light graze at the sky;
such heat begged for shelter.
My knees buckled and cried into silence.
Now I am dead; my body stinks.
What must I do to live again?
The dryness piled around me, rubbing against my heart.
I await the command: "Come forth, my child."
Soon I will feel the sand around me
turn into his clay.
3 comments:
Here i am..this reminds me of Ozymandias, again..
My first comment--and what a compliment. Shelley is one of my all time favorite poets. Thanks, friend.
Silly me, I didn't know you wrote poetry too.
It reminds me of a temple, though even with dirty souls, and death, it has some sort of godliness attached to it, that calls out to you to protect it.
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