Pantheon of Friends

It was once a place of worship to the pagan

moments of life. The awkward teenage years where

every pin drop is just a reminder of how lost I was.

Standing at the foot of the ruins of a belief that was

bombarded and destroyed by time and ideological

differences that spanned eons. Or seconds, really.  Life


feels so long in order to squeeze the last drops of a friendship

that may or may not have been built with eternity in mind.

Perhaps it was, but if my time was defined by conflict, then


what we had was timeless so forever was not a part engineering

I marveled at but was never marvelous. It was beautiful



and defied expectation. Many gods of self, eroded and destroyed,

still standing on the sinking ship in the river styx, keeping guard

of the souls left to wake in the wake of a building that was

never meant for me. I thought the ruins were me until I realized

that I was the one selling tickets to the objects of my hourless

desires. This was the pantheon of friendly empires fallen.


Ideological pedestals never destined to be mine because

I was never a part of time. Only of it.


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