A wail is wrenched beneath the tides
Oozing dolour of dourly stains of old,
Rising in fizzing waters deep
Dark spires of Babylon skyward creep.
Legends so tell of cities, time has knelled
Their rubble resting beneath tides,
Yet, rising from dust of long dormant sleep
The spires of Babylon appear from its keep.
Spirits of long distant slumber
Arise to walk about in floating mists,
As spectral witnesses in quells of twists
The coming dawn, as light has shown
The long forgotten name of Babylon,
On dunes the winds had swept in moans.
Adding your comment:
