With sight clear,
We saw what road lay ahead,
Burning in flames for the glorious end.
Destiny clad, upon the stone's cast,
Breathing, living, dying.
Within empty eyes of an effigy's mask,
Decrepit relic from the past.
Blackened bones.
Empty hands.
As the rain turns iron to rust,
In the lonely grave of bygone blood,
Time's cruel march, onwards it turns,
Ceaseless, breathless, dying.
Flash-blind in stellar burst,
Silhouettes of an empire, returned to dust,
Receding illumination, darkness returns,
Creeping archaic harvest yearns.
Blackened bones.
Empty hands.

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