The Archaeologist’s Confession

by Michael Walton 


Did those feet in ancient lands 

walk upon these desert sands?  

Did their chariots of fire 

stain the sand with holy ire? 


Did those souls in rusted chain 

pray for everlasting rain? 

Does this desert, gold and vast 

know its own forlorn past? 


The stories this sand could tell 

if it could raise but a knell. 

What truths we might glean 

of the things that have been. 


But alas! These endless grains 

bury gods beneath their plains. 

The desert now, so long divine, 

swallows everything in time. 


Tags : Poetry
Lot's Wife Editors

The author Lot's Wife Editors

Leave a Response