There’s a temple

Over on the hill,

It’s so old that

No one knows who

Or what gods it was

Devoted to.

I’m the only one who visits, now.

I grew up in the town

That’s in the shadow of

That hill.

I would stare at the temple

From the square,

And I would wonder

If anything still lives there.

When I was young,

Only a fool,

I decided to see it for


It took me three hours

Just to climb the 


And standing before the door 

I paused a moment to ponder,

Whether this monumental moment 

Was worth the risk it warranted.

I could feel an energy

Behind the shuttered windows

A yearning for something 

I didn’t yet know what.

Stealing my nerve

The door swung open

And I took my first step

Into an ancient crypt 

Now entered. 

Before I could process the ruins

The lock, fallen it was, into place.

I didn’t worry about the dark,

I didn’t notice the shadows,

Shifting. Gathering,


I was focused 

On the altar.

In the middle

Of a cracked stone floor

Was an alter carved

With faces, withering, screaming,


All of them were streaked with

Deep blue tears.

As I rose the 

Two steps up

I saw the stains,

Dappled brown patches,

And shivered.

I thought I knew

What it was.

But I continued until I stood

Directly in front 

Of the podium 

Just right for my height.

It was fractured down the middle,

A wide void

Destroying a single letter. 


So I traced it with my thumb.

I felt the cold and damp and moist and dank

Sink into my being. 

It wasn’t until I felt

The fingers

Curling into my skin 

And the breath was drawn from my lungs

By a mouth not my own,

That I realized my error.

Secrets always require sacrifice.

It appears that the ‘S’,

Etched into the dead

Gray stone,

Is an invitation,

That cannot go unrefused.

That is why I’m still here.

2 thoughts on “Stay

Add yours

  1. Shifting.’ Gathering,’

    I liked those descriptions. This poem is a great life lesson of why your mother tells you to ‘keep your hands in your pockets’ or ‘I told you not to go there’. I should respond with a comical story of how the mother went and saved her daughter by dragging her husband up the mountain to knock down the door. OH how you make my imagination soar.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you! I am glad that my stories are able to take your imagination to different places. When I started writing this poem it was actually meant to be something else, but it turned into this. Which I was happy with. Isn’t it so insteresting how that can happen when you’re writing sometimes? 😊


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