Stories Bones Tell - The Palimpsest
Our city had once spread
Its wings across
The four corners of the world
Strong in its pride
Many names it had assumed
Republic, empire, state
All of those now forgotten
As well as our fate
Time has no pity for the living
Be they petty or great
Time disregards our social orders
All will become dust
Our grand civilization
Had slowly failed
Collapsing on itself
Eroding outward
Once holy sanctuaries
Would welcome
Wild beasts and wretched lowlives
In their sacred halls
We would become but ghosts
An echo of age past
The wasteland would prevail
Above our arid grave
We would slowly fade away
Engulfed by searing sands
Our memories erased
Our bones bleached by the sun
Then others would arrive
To build on our remains
Until the desert would
In turn reclaim their names
This cycle would repeat
Time and time again
But nothing would be learned
Upon this ageless path
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A E
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