History’s Lovers
by Odin Roark

The spirit,
The soul,
Your choice,
Absorbs onto its pages
Sentient recitals,
Some conscious,
Others of shadowy stealth.

Visiting Delos ruins,
Where fallen ancient marble cloisters
Baked in centuries-old sun,
Marbled nakedness reclined in grass-protected embrace
Like chaste lovers of mind.

Tourist-fresh olives
Became perfect companions,
Alongside locally-aged wine
As pauses among history’s headstones
Unveiled shadowed sandal and toga-clad voices,
Philosophy destined to echo such inaugurals
Onto book-bound pages.

Looking up,
It seemed only proper
To toast the timeworn breezes
Holding afloat swallows of old
Awaiting moonrise
And another day’s passing.

Smiling induced memory,
As eternity seemed to enjoin my eavesdropping
On Time revisiting Time.

Another glance at the resting columns,
Lesson’s shameless lovers unadorned,
Hastened further sips of wine’s whispered patience,
Urging desire to be at one with the grass,
Preserving such prescient innocence destined for future’s wisdom.