The temples of the old gods crumbled
As the wind whistled through the great stones
Dust swept over the altars
Stained by wine and blood
The winter shaded eyes
Of the tall magician wept unashamed
In the shadows of the aeons
Fast was he fading
For he was the last of his kind
His peoples beliefs
Were the last sacrifice put to the altar
Civilization had intruded
Putting an end to the old world.
August 24, 1989
Tags: Poetry
