Photo by Chris Galford
The fire dips beneath the azure sea;
All eyes turn to their own hands.
No one spies the serpents slithering
From the long stretched shadows
Of a garden ripe with glistening fruit.
Demons whisper in the peoples’ ears—
The straw cast down,
The crows descend.
Fruit rots and garden fades—
Ravens circle high above
The corpses of the fools.
Old men stir within their ancient tombs—
The dream is dead,
Another Rome, decayed.
–
He gazes down from hea’n above,
Watching through a powdered dove.
His people walk the Earth below,
Dreaming of what they can not know.
He sighs and turns away,
As his people begin to go astray.
He wanders then to ancient hall,
Where so many ‘fore had come to fall.
Broken statues linger here,
Of fallen Gods who’d known this fear.
That noble Odin,
That beauty Benten,
Oh great Anubis!—
All fell into the great Abyss…
Fear begins to creep,
Even Gods are known to weep—
Is he destined for this same grim fate?
Can he only pray and wait?
He is as great as any passed,
And his kingdom is so very vast;
He looks into their wand’ring eyes,
Ever watching from the skies.
Is this God destined for the same grim fate,
That fell on those before him?
They say he is so great a being—
But can he face that test of time,
That felled those powers all,
That came before him
In those days of old?
The Waking Den 