Sleepers

Dust lies thick on marble pillars
Temples hide discarded gods,
The bastard sons of the mother city,
Left alone on the hill to die
Their only marks are worn inscriptions,
Engraved in vain prayer long ago.

The oracle is empty, quiet,
No god-sent warnings disturb the cave.
Foretold dooms have come to pass,
The Fates have taken back their own.
Even the stars have now forgotten
The stories that they used to tell
To all who saw, and read them truly:
Seeing sights has left us blind.

I came across a shattered statue
In a barren olive-grove
On the ground lay sharp-edged pebbles,
Votive jewels from the earth.
The zephyr found no leaves to rustle;
The trees were dead, their spirits gone,
Hitch-hiked to the busy city
Where the streets are paved with souls.

The chuckling stream runs silent
Down to the oil-dark sea.

I heard you breathing in the night,
The guardians, the sleepers still.
The regents are no longer ruling,
The infant kings are now of age,
Heedless of your counsel, even
Grudging the blankets on your bed.


Martin Locock, 1983