i don't understand

how many empires must be built
around the fear of oblivion?
how many hearts must be crushed beneath your feet
to make up for the wound in yours?
how many plays at love and rebellion
until the theatre has been closed?

from the hillside, we watched the decay
as it spread from the core.
the crumbling of a city we once called Zion
--those golden gates! the glittering sunrise!--
it melts into the desert sands
and once again we are alone,
in the wilderness

yet the stars continue their guidance
and the sun's rays warm our naked limbs
sliding over this desolate waste.
a quiet that moves us to tears,
only when shingles fall
do we learn to use our eyes.
we cross the dunes in hope and ecstacy.

the gates of the heavenly city
open inward
and welcome us home