The Cycle

Deep unto a forest's depths

lies a temple history put to rest.

Whether man or nature swung the axe,

only death has read the final acts.

Lost within the overgrown cathedral

are whispered dreams of an entire people.

Countless prayers for a better life

now sing to sleep nascent wildlife.

Its hallowed halls returned to soil,

fecund cradle wreathed in ivy coils. 

Handmade bricks, consumed by moss;

heaven and earth forever crossed. 

A purling stream cascades down -

Her flowing, curving, lazuli gown.

Gently caressing the eroded stones 

as it washes away the scattered bones.

And as the sun dips through the trees,

shining through the crumbling eaves,

a weary pilgrim stumbles in.

Thus anew the cycle begins.