Echoes of Fallen Empires

Weathered sandals tread softly on worn stone,
A solitary figure threading through time’s tapestry.
Crumbling pillars reach for a sky they’ll never touch,
Their once-proud capitals now nests for desert birds.

Whispers ride the wind, voices of the long-departed,
Telling tales of glory, of hubris, of fall.
Each gust carries the laughter of children long-silenced,
The commands of pharaohs returned to dust.

Faded hieroglyphs cling to walls like desperate memories,
Their meanings lost, yet still they speak of wonder.
Fingers trace the grooves of ancient stories,
Feeling the pulse of history beneath calloused skin.

Toppled statues of forgotten gods lie half-buried,
Eyes of stone staring blindly at an indifferent sun.
Once worshipped, now mere curios in the sand,
Their names erased from the litany of the cosmos.

In shadowed corners, remnants of offerings linger,
Pottery shards and tarnished coins, hopes turned to relics.
The air thick with the weight of countless prayers,
Unanswered, yet echoing still in the chambers of time.

As twilight paints the ruins in shades of flame and shadow,
The wanderer stands amidst the bones of empires.
In this moment, past and present collide,
A heartbeat in the vast expanse of eternity.

For in these ancient stones, we see our future reflected,
A reminder that all glory fades, all power crumbles.
Yet still we build, still we dream, still we endure,
Adding our whispers to the endless song of existence.