Age Old

People made of sand now lost in the sand, blowing in the breeze. Dusty grains kicked up by the whirling dank air. A dervish in a swirl. Unrestricted ruins now visible, all that remains of the old city.

Ruins are bones, bones are ruins. Everything beneath, bleach white bones under equally white moon.

Luminous.

Square stone blocks no longer upright. Earthquake tumble. Fragmented roof tiles, fractured mosaics, dried up river. All eaten by sand, an unrelenting advance.

Dust bowl heaven for small scurrying creatures, hiding from the sidewinder snake. Now the only life here.

People are skeletons in the sand. Culture extinct, a memory amongst ghosts. Over now.