On my trip to Rome, I encountered ruins that offer escape. Back to the emanations of strength and high culture deteriorating. Marble remembrances, rocks you never thought could die. How did things so majestic become dust?
How did centuries pass so quickly, yet rock rot?
The great Colosseum, its floors and walls dead.
There is no memory of its builders. Those men who designed it are not even in history.
The things we hold great become dust. The positions we value, the accomplishments, beneficent action. Laurels are made of fragile leaves.