Forgotten

The raging sea wrought mixed blessings
as days crumbled off the chopping block,
the flying colors of pax Romana
were forgiven in the path of smoke and mirrors.

The reach of the slaves of their linear overlord
is like an Arabic script, flowing right to left
in unchangable ink; one can, however, change
revenge to reverence before the final strokes.

The giant tower of Babyl rises again,
hubris infects not the purpose this time -
some would like to take out the mortared blocks
within the lower levels.

Whatever the genesis of this tragic race is,
whatever new land this exodus is leading to,
one cannot turn back into the train
that is regulating pace.

But maybe I will leave this speech to be
for light cannot nessessarily make you see,
go on and try, go on and fail,
learn from your mistake and let the natural order prevail.