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Behold the evergreen cloaks Of gnarled branch and verdant leaf Drawing back to reveal hidden mystique. Behold the cinereal spires Hewn from quarries of.

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Presentation on theme: "Behold the evergreen cloaks Of gnarled branch and verdant leaf Drawing back to reveal hidden mystique. Behold the cinereal spires Hewn from quarries of."— Presentation transcript:

1 Behold the evergreen cloaks Of gnarled branch and verdant leaf Drawing back to reveal hidden mystique. Behold the cinereal spires Hewn from quarries of centuries past Shading the ground with menacing umbra. Behold the unleavened ledges Baked with moss and lichen green Leading up to the beginnings of grandeur. Behold the emergence of magnificence. Behold Angkor.

2 As like the majestic lion The stony mane Of this towering edifice Dominates betwixt sky and soil Wordlessly, it demands Obeisance and respect And us insignificant humans Cannot but kneel and worship At the basalt altar.

3 The dusty, grim hues of Angkor Wat Surround and suffocate and swallow. A monochrome world painted by Historys palette. Yet through the cracked tiles of sandstone A burst of colour erupts Spewing life onto a desolate wasteland Blossoming with Natures seed. If in this crumbling womb of stone, Can bear an earthly child of spring Who are we to say that hope cannot Brighten the loneliest of hearts?

4 Gazing upon The war of root against stone I have wandered into The true battlefield of Natures fury. From the seeds of wrath burst forth The massive fist of an oaken dragon Twisted root betwixt sundered stone And down below, witness that moss has encircled even the silent stone The consequent of time and thorn Stronger than the fiercest warrior Greater than the noblest king Mightier than the holiest god Let the power of nature roar.

5 The multitudes of living, breathing Cambodians Dont matter. For Pol Pot knows best. The starving infants crying for food Dont matter. For Pol Pot knows best. The tortured souls of tormented victims Dont matter. For Pol Pot knows best. 24 provinces mired in poverty Dont matter. For Pol Pot knows best. Mountains of bone bleached in white Dont matter. For Pol Pot knows best. Basic human decency Doesnt matter, For I know best.

6 Priests prophesize Monks meditate Imams inspire All to bring light to the ignorant heathen. Cathedrals and churches Mosques and Mecca Temples and templars All a lighthouse to brighten our path. Darkness may be menacing, Darkness may be evil. Darkness may be insidious But it takes only one candle to illuminate the world.

7 Eight legs weave a widows web, Hidden from the targets sight. Even as that which they afear, Glides stealthily into the night. But these tattered wings of night Canvass not craggy caverns cover. Hung instead from wiry torture, Is the body of their owner. A macabre picture of the web of life Entombed within the azure blue sky.


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