The Archaeologist

Quiet, the catacombs deep
posterity calls crumbling
as ancients left dreams
asleep
in piles of dust
entombed kings whisper no longer
sacred secrets of the shadow caster
covering ceilings to dark
while the light carried oil
pours smoke through the crevice
of yesterdays exit
holding fast
as he slips
further toward
a spiraling confusion
where words so loud repeat
dizzying
following footprints
in the sand
harsh cries of pressure, din
blow
swift  
hauling him back home
to parchment, ink and pen
styled arcs and left tips
point precious collections
severing passage
to the wandering world
in his mind
he digs once more
etching symbolist markings
to history saying only
what grandeur lay
deep within
the eye of a flame
his tinder box sparks
encompassing
his safely guarded map
a flash of brilliance
penning only
the overflowed cup