The Empty Castle

Times now are not as happy as they were then,

so we build the walls with relics since.

I find a castle made by the memory

of old. Mortared

by dust and cobweb silk. They don't stand high like beams

hallowed and epic upon a sparkling citadel. They don't fly, swirl,

or blast engines for the edge of heaven. They don't hold melted

emeralds or liquid gold in grizzled, some lost mausoleum.

But they're worshiped as ardently, as feverently.We've all witnessed

the castles, added to the pillars. All of us fill the role

of bricklayer, builder, architect.

Old books, magazines, clothes, trinkets, souveiners, toys,

frames, bikes, cars, metal, rust, serve our blocks.

And we rebuild the memories there in heaps.

The worse of the sadness mutate into the horde.

And hoard they do,

till families and animals lay beneath the ruins,

some living and some dead.

There graveyard the same world

insects prowl like living dust.

To avoid the memory made halls we must

make memory just memory, Shift time now,

and make it as happy then.

Fear the call of memory thunder.

Times now are not as happy as they were then,

so we build the walls with relics since.