THE CROFTON CHRONICLE # 10
Empires carved from marble bow to years, Their burnished triumphs veiled by dust and tears. Lofty columns waver, heavens recede, And clamoured glory gentles into peace.
Triumphal choruses thin into the air, Faint echoes linger in abandoned prayer. The blood of conflicts darkens quiet loam, From shattered plains, unwilling gardens bloom.
We wonder if our hour is being drawn, If future eyes will sift what we have done. Are we the stewards shaping what will last, Or fleeting embers swallowed by the past?
For every height submits to time’ s command, An ageless cadence none may countermand. Yet through the fractures scored in stone and ash, A tempered hope endures, still faint and vast.
CIRCLES IN STONE