These terraces and pillars are pitted with
the dying screams of generations
and where I sit base instincts
grew with every final pained breath.

Here within Rome’s stone centre
on display the glory of her name
and yet the grim reminder of
the history of her lowest ebb

These stones that echo to our steps
once rang to blood hazed roars
whilst in counterpoint there raised
a song of praise and supplication.

Here within this pained theatre
The stuttered beating of a dying heart
and all the Gods of Rome
did became, recognisable as clay

Within this ring of ancient stones
upon the plain of blood soak sand
here in the torment and the pain
a stone ring became a crown of thorns

here against this backdropp of
a civilisation’s death throes
came forth in fiery baptism the light
which brought eternal truth.

Held in trust within this open space
The answered prayers
Of those who turned
A Crown from Thorns to Gold.

Bill Mitton

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-eternal-circle/