True to Caesar (Poem)

True to Caesar

Caesar lives as monuments–
While architects need only kneel,
Vanity splays over saddened faces
As elegant towers and bulbous foundations
That bear down on the lowly and poor,
Who welcome being full.

And the crier shrieks from atop
At the emptiness of infinity,
An icy twinkle in his eye
That sees crystalline truth as free.

My heron lights by daybreak,
And stalks the open shallows–
Plucking food as river’s gold,
With a gaping maw of lies.

For the architect became cement,
And the harvesters, his grain,
While the crier froze to minaret,
And Caesar coldly laughed again.

Yet the wheat and chaff must not burn.
I’m not the crier or the hopeless.
I’m starved of bread and air.
So I’ll be with the stars, dancing
Once all in me is spent.

(C) 2017 Emma Gabriel

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Mythic Rubble (Poem)

Here’s a poem I wrote in 2015 anticipating the abhorrent racism and division sweeping away good sense in the country. Oddly enough, one of the Charlottesville racial terrorists even had “Deus Vult” on a shield. The poetry club prompt was “rubble.”

Mythic Rubble

Ah, like the crumbling tower
Of my life’s inner narrative!

I’m not deluded or grandiose—
I’m Joseph Campbell reincarnate!

Here’s one out of the record books:
“For he has put everything under his feet.”

Like death, corruption, disintegration—
Of morality and social identity.

Oh no, I’m not having an identity crisis
(I already got my eighteen crises in today).

Cynicism, the battle cry of our crusade
Against wholeness. Remember “Deus vult?”

Whatever happened to the good old days?
Don’t worry, friends, they are fast approaching.

What side will you be standing on?

© 2015 Emma Gabriel