Powerful Pasts and Weakened Futures

We leave parts of ourselves on roads
of our own making.
Roses and operas
cathedrals of stones that make the Gods blush.

Strip mined beauty, overgrown gardens
derelict churches. We own them,
pray in them, wish that
friends and lovers could rescue us.

Watching the future roll away is the soul of pain.
In our comfortable stone we watch others
tending their gardens as our vines grow
pulling down our castles as our bodies
turn to stone golems, Magic envy machines
driven by sorcery for what we do not have.