The Graveyard Of Empires

The curtains of quietus fell

On the graveyard of empires

And the charred slivers of hope

Recumb, fleeced from the armscye

(a pungent miasma of blood that lay bare in me

And the rosiness of a thousand cries)

The curtains of destitution fell

On the graveyard of empires

And the chirruping’s of war

Sounded of death

(the sun bleats a thousand nights

And seldom rises a diurnal)

The curtains of life fell

On the graveyard of empires

As the decadence of smiles

Twisted into a horrid fear

(the flowers of rhetoric embroider

In sickly sentiment)

And alas, the curtain will keep falling

A hundred immodest ways

(Dear reader, trestle the curtain

And emancipate me)