They approached the museum
like the temple of a fallen god
that still commands respect, fear and awe.
A recent shrine that still hasn't had time
to grow weeds and vines.
They approach and circle
crouching in flight or fight posture
spears in hand gripped tight,
all bare fangs, nostrils and taut breathing.
They circled the building
without understanding its long gone purpose,
just sensing the fear of an unknown power.
Something that might still reside inside,
they loath the foreboding
of a knowledge sensed to be beyond reach.
Only one of them stands erect now,
having perceived something different
emanating from the building,
something different from fear and anger.
The possibility of raising one's head
towards the infinite and away from the ground.
But he did dare not contradict the others
or command them not to torch the edifice,
which they did screaming as if
to comfort each other, safety in numbers,
to reassure themselves the tribe was safer
like this and some victory
- or vindication of something ancient,
its contour lost with time but not quite forgotten -
had been achieved.
And that is how the embers were left
to freeze in the nights to follow
and to be lost forever with no remembrance.
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