Abiding cycles, overriding climes in rhymes of violence and certain gain
With equal expectation of loss the dross of equal certainty in successive reigns
Of terror in the skies just beyond the puny girth of earth’s thin atmosphere;
How much it was the same when Cæsar’s designated revisions of the year
Bore both his names and title in the gilded monthly lists in vain
Presumption that the sun, itself, might be detained or entertained
When will and means conspire to light a fire in cold banality.
Idols worshipped through applause and semi-automatic Coliseum cheers;
Cause wolves to salivate in time. Reflect on just how long these weary fears
Have been the seat and capitol of colossal vain imaginings, the necromancy
Of the rich and bloated tales, tools of millennia of astrologies in the armoury.
How often have bucolic Virgils and Octavians stumbled onto history’s
Urban stage, the first to taste the fruits of history’s tired storylines, effacing
Iconoclasts by default and gluttony of hubris at last embraced
as fresh portfolios forged from fatigue and blatant moral bankruptcy?