One pillar of three, you supported a world.
You had a culture on your wheels,
revolving, a world always evolving.
Ever changing sands over a familiar cartouche,
widening cracks in between to fall through.
The name you've built up is now eroding,
silently, the way it's spoken.
One pillar of three toppled when sold.
Your name falls silent on the ear
when spoken in modern tongue.
Silence. (Hush)
What's your rush
into extinction?
Do you really want to disappear?
Idly wane from all but history
through the ease of amnesic transition,
to become nothing more
than a hieroglyph, unfamiliar,
on a wall, eroding.
Silently, the way it’s spoken.
