“Gloria victis, the words echoed through the halls of the Colosseum, a testament to the unyielding spirit of the gladiators who fought for honor and glory, even in the face of certain death.”
Conn Iggulden – The Death of Kings
So
This is it,
They say,
And I don’t know …
Drove through the rusty dusk
Of Leistershire plain
The other evening
Facing the smily cresent
Of a dying moon
Plethora of colours
Splendour of lights
Unreal like life
In its secret
Envy of meanining
And I still
Had Her
On my mind
Understanding
Though
That in the start
Of the dusk
Of my life
My love for “that lass”
Sort of lacking
The purpose
But ...
It’s certainly
Not meaningless
Yes, HP
Or whatever I should
Be calling You
Even if I don’t know
What and Who
ARE YOU?
And even if
YOU ARE
But “In God we trust”
Still remains the most practical
Motto
Even if You play tricks
On me
Like that
Proding me to long
For things
I am bound to lose,
Even before I can get…
Wanting me to love
Who I can’t even get close to
The old story of Abraham
Sacrificing beloved son Isaac
Once more and over again…
So, I am still expecting
Your Angel
Messenger
Of Hope
To deliver
Last minute
Pardon letter
Pretending
That the sword
Has been misplaced
And both
the wood and the flint
Too wet
To light up
The pyre
"Thy will be done"
Echoes in my brain
Time, space and existence
Suspended
...