Gravel crackles under my footfalls sounding
All the world like cockroaches carpet earth here
In this subterranean temple, empty
Save for the god’s ghost,
Mithra’s spirit lingers here, dreams, recalling
Years long buried, days when the faithful brought him
Sacrifice sweet with
Votive begging victory over darkness.
Now though, Mithra, wandering hallways ghostly
Slurps only marrow.
Graves long cold are icing between the layers
Church on church on temple where once a god learned
Nothing is sacred.