The Shadow on the Marble Floor

The Shadow on the Marble Floor

 

The heavy door of judgment swung ajar,

Where golden light fell only on the few;

Beyond the pale, beneath a distant star,

The unregarded wept in silent dew.

For they were born beneath a different sign,

Molded of coarser clay, or darker earth,

While Pride sat feasting on the ruby wine,

And measured virtue by the right of birth.

Thus Man, the brief inhabitant of clay,

Draws narrow circles on the timeless dust,

Shuts out his brother from the warmth of day,

And calls his cold, inherent malice just.

He builds a fortress out of hollow names,

Of ancient bloodlines and a static grace,

While in the dark, the unextinguished flames

Of sorrow burn upon the hidden face.

Ah, foolish mortal! mapping out the soul

By outward garments and a shifting tongue,

Blind to the majestic, undivided whole,

The single song that through the void was sung.

For Death shall strip the purple from the king,

And time shall level every proud decree,

Leaving but ashes where the trumpets ring,

And level shores beside the boundless sea.