Sight Of The Archive

paper ghosts roam
ashen streets forgotten
what was written
committed to the winds

bones of wooden giants
no longer float in peace
the sea has left these shores
and swept the voices from the streets

in silence now The Archive is
where the archive used to sit
tenderly embraced
by eighteen loving arms

having seen the tides of time
and remembering their tales
every word long turned to dust
while The Archive has endured

the echoed cries of history
stone and ink to sand
suspended in the fractal clouds
compressed and locked away

from the darkness decades still
the light and sound of life spill forth
raven shapes against the flames
eyes drinking in the stygian

"No evidence of me exists
Yet here a ghost turned flesh
Disciple of the parchment crown
What would you wish me to remember?"

"I have come,
for I long to hear
the story of your own destruction."