Guardians of the Clouds

High in Peru where condors glide,
The guardians confront the sky.
They shield the dead along the side
Of cliffs where drifting spirits fly.

The Chachapoyas shaped their form,
Tall sentries facing mist and rain.
They stood through every mountain storm,
Protecting souls from loss and stain.

Above the Utcubamba’s sweep,
Their painted faces still endure.
They watch while valleys fade and sleep,
Their sacred purpose fierce and pure.

They marked the passage from this earth,
Guiding the dead through unseen doors.
Each guardian preserved the worth
Of those who walked the peaks before.

Cold vapors curl around their frame,
Dark silence grips the ancient stone.
Yet centuries have spared their claim;
The clouded heights remain their throne.

They rise where earth and heavens merge,
Beyond the reach of common ground.
The guardians sustain their surge,
While endless mists revolve around.