Nowhere in the Title

We yearn and lust for that which we must possess. Yet, intangible things exist that we may never touch nor hope to own. Embrace but never feel, inspire but never control. The old places. The forgotten people. The breathtaking vistas of imagination born of nature. We are diminished so in its vastness.

First Breath, First Light

The inhabitants having gone,
this mighty structure, desolate now.
Once the center of learning, vaunted wisdom to unlock.
Now a pale shadow, reminiscing hope and dream.
Few come since the Great Move.
Mostly dust and creeping plant move o'er the floors.

"I can remember my awe, regarding it in the old place,
inspiring size and the regal shapes hand-carved into legendary landscape."
Grim silence abides there now, a warden to its prisoner,
the Great Move having diminished it.
"Return it to the original ground!" we cried in vain.

Over the far hillock, stone towers peer.
Dawn's sun caresses the central dome.
I sigh. I am here. Again. I descend.

Scraps of light scamper over smooth walls,
within the great hall.
Majestic ceilings arcing to the sky,
shadows masking true heights.
Statues of the ancients, the learned, the wise,
the carven masters reach, lecture,
reenacting their worldly achievements.

Such quality in engineering, integrity preserved.
No marble cracked or granite crumbled.
Not a single sign of youth's petulance,
the indignation of the shallow-minded.
"Were there wards on this place?" I asked.
"An unseen caretaker discouraging the wicked from
assailing our hallowed place?"

A new thought emerged in my limited brain.
"Was it taking care of itself?"
The Great Move had changed all things...
Familiarity of the strange washed over me,
a familiar yet fresh reality arrived.
Possibilities leapt, poured as if from newly struck spring.
I smiled widely. I could leave now.
No longer the pilgrim, the seeker.
My thoughts shape my world,
carefully I ponder creation.
I sat on the marble steps, spat in the inch-thick dust.

The halls of the wise lay behind me.
Gentle winds lift my hair.
Soft sunlight tenderly tans my cheeks,
the face, now one radiating clarity.
The old places, aligned in memory,
repose under the shroud.
I embrace the idea of this place,
this sanctuary of the coarse hills,
of the wind-carved stone and hardy shrubs,
of the stinging sand, of my great move.