Remnants

The steeples of the spirit

stand in their shards of steadfast splendor,

they are the remnants of glory’s edifices

erected against the winds and whims,

which sweep over the communal face

of the heart in a civilization’s throb.

 

It is that pause between birth and death

for the very pulse in patriotic passions,

there is within it a foundation forged

to create an emblem in stone and mortar

that might preserve the portrait in social identity,

declare its essence before the many dawns,

say no matter what prevails,

regardless of the marauding mayhem that comes,

there was a moment, a precious precarious pause

when life of so many bonded minds

was given its icon in shape and form.

 

Even though the ravishes of events

erodes the vision and its pillars,

what remains is the remnant of a dream,

which lingers it in decayed vanity

as the testimony to the power in the will,

utterly endowed with the urge

unto claiming some an hour out of eons

with a desire to make it your own.

 

Among the residue of that inner fire

we walk through its many portals,

feel its ghost speak their loves

and remember how it is the gold

worth more than any treasure,

for it is wealth in mankind’s zeal

at building more than self

across the constant shifting sands in time.