In demolishing tier after tier of my ancient ruins,
brushing through the debris of false words and deeds
in an effort to reclaim gems of enlightenment.
The remainder of what was left was too strong to destroy
yet weak enough to yield impressions.
The search for a true nature in myself and others often
leaves with me with no choice but to stay silent and observe.
Before the fall, there was wistful beauty. I could easily reach
for it through song and soon it becomes an echo.
My words fail me. I am choked up by the history of it all.