The Lost World

The silky waves of mist caress the temple, lost in times of dust, and all the memories of past within, in silent tenderness. It's been a long time since in-here the last steps left as gift their sound, and on the stony steps around there's nothing now - no hope, no fear... * * * Sometimes, the dark becomes alive, and from the corners of the night a strange and very silent sight of shadows crawls and wants to strive against the time...against the pain... against the future and the past, against the death...against the dust... against oblivion's soft chain... together priest's and faithfuls’ eyes are looking almost as in trance at how the ghostly fires dance and how the ancient temple dies... * * * It's quiet now...a ray of moon is sliding slowly on the floor... but no one's walking through the door... no veiled priestess...no priest...and soon the sun will rise...the dream will go... and all the spirits from the past will let the temple fall and rust and join in peace the world below...