On the wall

Voices from the distance,
an insect chorus mends the air
and I sit here in silence,
loving the world as it slips past.
The sound of my own voice startles me,
and among my collapsing thoughts,
the wind is little comfort,
singing in my ears, bringing the
twinkle of birds in his breath.
Ants crawl among the wall;
this is their land, their life,
they will know nothing else –
I, on the other hand, am a fool,
tomorrow to leave this place a memory,
to rest among the pylons of my past;
there is darkness here, left by me,
I see it in the distance,
shouldering itself against the corn fields,
hidden beneath the branches of pyramid trees,
and I leave a little lighter, my burden less,
but the stones speak their own truth:
they have been here forever,
footsteps on stone, the sound of blood in the air,
and through the beauty, the darkness is always known.