91. Prologue IV

O sweet muse!

You have shown me so much.

For that I am grateful.

I’ve seen the living fossils

Evolving from the mud.

I’ve seen the passing of empires

Built on dust and blood.

Fearful men came and went.

Ozymandias statues crumbled to the ground

As new ones were erected over them.

I’ve seen the fires of revolution

The bloody rivers of war and conquest.

Now you point on.

I shake with the thought of future terrors I have yet to see.

You, like the angel of death before my grave,

Silently point to that cobweb encrusted door

Begging me to see that dreaded inscription.

Please muse, I say, must I push on?

Still silently, the bony finger

Clasping blackened scythe

Urges me to push on

As witness.

72. Islam

In a humble cave

Where a poor merchant lived

Came the voice of Gabriel.

“Recite!”

“In the name of your Lord who created”

“Man from clots of blood.”

“Recite!”

“Your Lord is the Most Bountiful One.”

“Who, by pen, taught man what he did not know.”

The humble man bowed.

Raising his arms he said

“I submit.”

“You must write,”

Gabriel said.

So the man wrote.

“You must preach.”

So the man preached.

They came from far and wide

To hear the message of this man.

Mecca felt threatened by him

So they cast him out.

He returned with an army.

Circling for days

He conquered the Arabian city.

Then, with his last farewell,

He flew into his heavenly afterlife.

Onward into history his heirs

Flowed outward into the world

Building their new empires

Conquering old.

71. Prologue III

With the death of Rome and her son
The world passed onto a new age.
Greece gave us democracy.
Rome gave us republic.
Philosophy and science
Made the world real.
Thousand year empires disappear
Into the ancient dust and ruins of the past.
Religious service
Turned cathedrals gothic
As they threw out old gods
In place of saints and symbols.
Dynasties pass
As Ozymandias statues of Zeus and Athena wear and erode.
Slowly eaten away by acidic rain.
Leaders rise up then they fall
Only to bring in new ones.
“King of kings am I,” the dragon said.
Then came a Greek
Saying “He is dead.”
“King of kings am I,” The Greek one said.
That all changed
With Rome’s crown on her head.
“Queen of Queens, am I,” Rome herself once said.
Now, with Caesar,
She rests her head.
No one worships these forgotten gods.
They play on in fantasy
As ghosts of bygone times.
I wish to stay to play with them
But the muse begs me to push on.
Future pages await.
There are new Ozymandiases to behold
Otherwise they’ll remain unwritten.