The centuries have been unkind to us.God forgotten within white temples fade.Under lidded eyes the palace sits, frayed.Doors closed, behind bleached rooms gathering dust.The glided throne's gleam muted by dull rust. Rings worn into still walls chart neglect laid.Strata of history cleaned by no maid.No breeze, mirrors shut, glass mottled with must. The Explorers stand still, statues bleached white,Eyes lidded, heads empty as the room.Plans fade for a future repainted bright.Pristine comes unclean without a fresh fight.The past reigns, skeletal, holding a blank slate.The gleaming potential of a tomb.