On the Doorstep of Knossos
By David Niall Wilson
White palace, hewn from stone
Upon the grave of palaces long gone,
Buried, reborn,
Generations Shifting gears
And still the stone lives on.
Minotaurs and labryinths,
Kings and queens and Priests
Of Gods long gone away,
On vacation, doing time;
The endless beaches of eternity
Are nice this time of existence.
Silent, Knossos broods
Above the land, its kings entombed,
It’s tribute collected,
It’s heart beating still to drums
Of sunsets melted to legend,
Of realities risen to myth.
Secrets run through the veins
Of palaces within and beneath and
Beyond the touch of sun.
The Minotaur broods still
Within labryinthine passages
That call to the soul.
If you listen closely,
You can hear the heartbeat.
If you dream, you can feel the soul.
Palaces upon palaces, lives upon lives.
This one no more permanent than the last,
Or the first . . .
Only dwarfed by the majesty
Of memory and time.
Only marred by the inevitability
Of dust.
We build our palaces well;
Who will build on our bones?
22:33 9/22/1994
Written by David Wilson - Visit WebsiteFollow me on Twitter
