Member Rara Avis
I walk between twin columns
that feed into the sky.
Were they built to hold the sun
or is this modern purpose?
Surely once there was a roof.
What war ever ruined them,
knocked the ceiling down around,
Was this place a temple once?
Did walls hold up frantic prayers
while the soldiers stormed and surged,
armor clanging up the steps.
Was this place a library?
Ancient texts that did not live
to see the ancient texts that did,
silence of the fire.
Or a brothel? Men revealed,
unspooling, spreading selves within
the heat of revealed women left
fetishized in capture.
Or a court? Was this but one
of many buildings razed and burned --
perhaps a complement of structures
imposing, stark and frightening.
Men in shackles for their sentence.
A prison, then? A hangman's knot
would rot, the gallows following,
the towers standing guard collapsing.
What battle raged to leave this place
fallen, scattered, cold with age?
Gutted of past purpose,
remains and conjecture.
It could have been a private building.
Some small warehouse, hell, it could
have been a shed to store old things,
Such questions linger, I will leave them --
books to books -- and calmly breathe in
cypress-scented air, and ponder
sunlight breaking on the frieze.
[This message has been edited by bsquirrel (07-24-2003 01:48 PM).]