Move On, Archaeologist

I've become a city in the jungle somewhere in Belize,
A ruin, not what I once was, and you, intrepid scientist,
Have come to poke among the fallen stones,
The towers overgrown, to try to understand what
I say I was in my glory many centuries ago. The glory's
Gone. I grant you that. My corridors, no longer
Thronged by priests and wealthy commoners,
Are avenues for snakes and vines. My stelae,
With their proclamations, slowly dissolve into
Lumps of lime, scrubbed free of any meaning,
There is little here for you. I was impressive
In my day, but its light ended long ago, and you,
Intrepid scientist, have better things to do, I hope,
Than dig to see me as I was. The world's full
Of places in which glory's been retained.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 67 times
Written on 2018-06-08 at 03:10

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email
dott Print text

yes, kant can The PoetBay support member heart!
my friend,
most of the time, i don't have the key to understand your poems
but i understand the words in it and that happens many times. you don't reveal the key, the simple key but i got it this time and this poem revealed wonderfully

Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
But it's the archeologist who pokes among the fallen stones to find the glory that was to recreate it and dream of all it was.
The story is all there underneath the slime-covered stones. What he'll put together nobody knows, but he/she will feel the greatness. :)

Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
I feel like that sometimes too. Although I have no hidden wisdom. Great visual metaphor.