Stairway
An ancient breeze
Softly, does blow
Tinged with regret
From long ago
A dusty palace
Long forgot
Beneath the ruins
Memories rot
A land of heat
A land of gold
Of countless treasures
And stories told
Upon these flags
Of weathered stone
Hostages prayed
Before the throne
Each heart, each soul
Each fate depends
Upon the judgment
Of kings, not men
Who shall live
And who shall die?
The coin is tossed
The heavens sigh
As on the sculpted
Stairway treads
The God of death
Whom mortals dread
With weariness
Borne of disdain
He gathers those
Who can’t remain
Silent his passage
Through the veil
Some cry for mercy
To no avail
Yet still there lingers
In the haze
The plaintive whispers
Of forgotten days
“Softly, does blow,
Tinged with regret
From long ago…”
This hauntingly beautiful poem @Trudi Nicola. The imagery of ancient ruins and the judgment of kings gives us so much to ponder. Love it! 💕
This one tugs at me so deeply. Why is this type of history still repeating itself? A brutal but necessary reminder, Trudi, so beautifully wrapped in your glorious poetry.