Constantine - Poem by Daniel Brick
OH, the fuss and bother of
Imperial Governance! I farm
that out to my subalterns
in the lower courtyards.
Let them carry that weight,
let them garner the harvest
of taxes and privileges. I rule
from the the sphere of my Gold Throne,
where I sit in glory, arrayed
in silk gowns of the Phoenician
color. Flanked by statues
of my illustrious ancestors,
I stare at a marble walkway
below my throne and follow it
to the distant mausoleum of
my once deified father. Then,
I fix my eyes on the symbol
that commands the roof and
all the space around it.
The sun's ray seeks its presence.
And symbol, eyebeam and sun's ray
ignite in a flash of LIGHT
beneath the aroused sky...
The symbol's eyebeam comes
racing down the walkway, and strikes
the center of my head, flooding
my mind with golden truths. Oh,
so much truth tumbles and rolls
through my mind, I am riveted
to the moment and the place.
This is the glory of being Emperor.
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