After The Diaspora

The coffers

have been cleared

and coins pursed

from the embers.

The seeds have

been distributed

to further lands

where trees still stand

and governments are

just getting started.

The old, departed home

deprived of you

and empty of your faith

only shines with

remnant beauty

of what you once made

this place seem

to be.

Your ruins are,

like a stick

stuck in the mud,

marking your grave,

or that you

even were.

Like seeds carried

on the wind,

you have dispersed.

We can follow

the trail you walked

by stepping in the tears

settled in the mud

making fossils of

your existence.

Done