Never to be Beheld

  Mercilessly, the entire earth is a ruthless grave from which nothing can ascend, nothing

is so flawless as to avoid it's tomb.  Rivers, rivulets, streams, fountains and waters rush,

and never return to their hopeful  beginnings; briskly they hasten on the immense realms

of the rain god. As they expand their banks, they polish the tragic head stone of their

demise.


         Flowing is the whole earth with terrible dust once flesh and bone,

once prospering bodies of man who remained upon thrones, decided cases, presided in            

        council, challenged armies, seized provinces, rich with treasure,

                                                shattered


      Temples glorified in their pride, majesty, authority, prowess, praise and power.

Murdered are these joys, just as the staggering smoke transcends that is presented by the

angry fires of Popocatepetl. Never to be beheld again except by the written page.