I Have Lived Before the Clocks

I have lived before the clocks were wound, When silence spoke and stars made sound. My hands once etched in temple stone, The prayers of kings, yet slept alone. I knew the scent of burning leaves, In Vedic dawns, beneath fig trees. I sang where Nile met desert wind, A priest of fire, a soul thick-skinned. In Rome, I wore the thinker’s face, In chains of thought, not bound by place. In robes of law or sacred thread, I judged the living and the dead. A scroll, a blade, a feathered pen— Each life I bled and breathed again. In Florence I lit minds like flame, But died unknown, without a name. In shadowed courts of Genghis' reign, I walked as ghost through steppe and plain. I sought the Truth in every creed, But never tamed the soul's deep need. Through monks and maps, through ink and war, I crossed the seas to distant shore. Each time reborn with memory dim, Yet haunted by the silent hymn. Now here I stand, the circle tight, With one last fire to birth the night. I’ve seen the rise and fall of men— But will I walk this Earth again?