Rest Of The Ancients

He sits among the ruins,
an ancient city long since forgotten,
He closes his eyes,
imagining the city in it's prime,
people praying at the alters,
a baby crying in its mother's cradled arms,
men hard at work in sweltering forges,
He hears them,
the scent of fresh bread wafts into his nose,
a bakery filled with warm bread,
this dead city is alive once more,
and then,
He opens his eyes,
it has been but only a second,
He stands,
bowing to the ruins of these glorious peoples,
leaving the ancient to their rest.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem