At Temple's Fall - by Dustin D.
temple of stone and mortar
once towered above everything,
higher than the canopies of trees
and the steeples of churches.
And over these tall beacons--
beacons of nature and faith--
a long shadow was cast.
Its granite pillars were chipped,
holding a heavy weight on their volutes.
With every passing day--at every hour,
another piece is shattered.
Still is that burden carried by these columns,
no matter how weathered.
There were patterns etched into its design
anarchic, but with a sense about them:
a sense of order and serenity.
The carvings plunged deep into the material,
in agreement with themselves,
and in argument with themselves.
The temple had a following,
laymen who remained loyal to this edifice of power.
They knew not why, nor how they were drawn here.
Some opposed the practice, whilst others assimilated.
Regardless, they all trekked to this place.
They all worshipped this temple.
Prophecies adorn the wall, large frescoes that hold fate.
Ancient glyphs of a language long forgotten embroider the murals.
They speak of destinies and aspiration,
omens that have already befallen those it affects.
The laymen look to these murals and strange characters
for hope where it cannot be found.
For centuries, this temple has stood,
keeping a watchful eye over its subjects.
Taming and controlling where its shadow is cast.
Though these walls were once sturdy and impenetrable,
its reign is near an end.
For all things must ultimately fall.
Author's Note: This poem is subject to change! Also, I had to refer to the thesaurus for lack of better phrases ("edifice" and "volutes" come to mind).
Another Note: I don't poet much!