BENEATH BABYLON

There were days in the chivalrous past

When it seemed there was a future

Fired by perfume and frolics.

Now it’s hard to discern

Such moments of merriment

In the mists of remorse

And the warps of shame

That shroud and distort my name.

Certainty of innocence lapsed

Long ago into trances of guilt

And foolish deformed regret.

Hope degenerated into dread

Soon after the lies were read

And the great and good

Demanded life sentences

But signed off on slow death.

There are days now that start

With the urge to shed tears

And wash resolve away in a flood

Surging over burned bridges.

Pent up weeping drips away

Until the dark night slashes

Its way into the wells of gloom

And eyes swell with grief’s gashes.

Ahead I can see only the doors

To a fiery furnace beneath Babylon

Where even the god of Shadrach

Never dispenses grace to salvage

The souls of men who reached up

And, before lowering their empty hand,

Were choked like flowers royal

By bleak cash crops amidst corrupted soil.