IIIIIIIIII

Have your steps brought you home, brother?
Have you seen again

The silent tomb of our father
The divine shade of our mother

Have you heard her whispered pad
Under the rotting beams
Of once elegant archways

Gardens reclaimed by earth
And stone subsumed by vine

The fields of men who lie
In stupor, taking succor
From ashes
Unaware they have wasted
To mere impressions

Crumbling mosaics and the
Silent banners
Of long-faded triumphs

Lacrimae mundi
The world has grown old
And its tears no longer deluge
In youthful torrents

But crawl in procession
Stately and resigned
As the glory is gone
It fled while we watched
With crossed arms

Proud and haughty, stares upon our features

And you and I, brother, will never be gods