My body is a temple
that, sadly
is crumbling and haunted
thoroughly looted
by all who came before you.
No one has worshipped at my altar
in a hundred generations;
my pillar, unannointed with fresh oil,
stands alone, an ancient relic
on a distant stretch of earth,
where the map of my holy ground
has long turned to dust.
-
Author:
Fränz Müller (
Offline) - Published: August 5th, 2026 07:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell, sorenbarrett, Nerd, Demar Desu, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
Once we had it all, power, looks, statuer.
Time is cruel though, catches you on the blind.
Now a relic in time.
Indeed! Thank you!
A sad poem of a sexual relic excavated by words of revelation in this poem well written a fave
Thank you!
Most welcome Franz
Fränz, what a brilliant mixture of lust, loneliness, and self-deprecating humor. The sacred language makes the sexual frustration hilarious...yet the longing to be desired again remains painfully human. One heck of a poem, my friend! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thanks!!
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.