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 I’m sent up there.
(C) 2017 Emma Gabriel