From Antiquity

It's a way of life.


You can see it in their eyes
and the way they walk

Once strong and proud
now shoulders bent and bruised.
Muscles permanently damaged
Heads are wounded on the inside

And those are the lucky ones.

."It's OK." they say quietly
as if not to disturb their private
daydreams of peace and rest

Fine dust devils of ash
swirl like dervishes in the
empty noonday streets.

---

                                 

Clothed in the finest silk and satin
Jeweled coco de mer shell
held in scarred hands

Offering his words of wisdom
though his feet are like unto
the fruit beggars at market

Dust now covereth his form
that once trod the Great Hall
of Apil-ashnan
and
the Winter Palace of St. Petersburg

---

                                          

He is of old
A relic in black gown
with a brilliant scimitar
hung at his side

Whence have you come?

...From the dunes of Quo V' Sar
to the crags of Knesh

...North to the borderlands
of Ausraine

...South to the Red Sea

...In the West I trod
the road of San Simiel

...And to the East I rose
with the dawn.

---

                                                      

From antiquity
he speaks to me
Never smiling or second-guessing
Honor is his code

I search his eyes for a sign
to tell me of the truth
They knew back then
what lie hidden in man

Better than we do...