Poetry Column - Incense

The smoke rises to his nostrils

And the King of Kings breathes deep

For as far as he can see the world is his

To conquer, to burn, to build anew in marble.

He lifts a ringed finger, heavy with a weight atmospheric

And lightning cracks across the sky.

Then there is a wind that snuffs out the incense,

And wears away the hall of bronze atop the holy mountain.

Like water digging deep grooves in a riverbed

All things are ground up, and what remains is rust and rotting sandalwood, lying in the silt.

By Alex Sergeant