Hopeless

Poem #7

Sand clouds his eyes,
Winds push his bony chest,
As he inches forward
On the desolate roads of Babylon.
Strength that once was,
Disappeared,
Like the roars of the Romans
Who had cheered for him -
The colossus on his gilded chariot,
Triumphant and exuberant.

Walls so wide, now in ruins,
Naked bricks, plaster crumbled.
He knew not
Where he was going
For he had lost the map
When he lost her.
Like rare gems,
Her Grecian eyes had sparkled
With the light from the lamp.
Little galaxies. His atlas.

His skin withers.
He grits his teeth.
Unbearable,
The eternal travail.
Much burden to carry
Marching against the sandstorm
Through the streets he conquered
For pride and vanity
In a city that dazzled,
The jewel of Mesopotamia.

He walks endlessly
Day after day
Dragging his wooden chest
Clinking with trinkets,
Talismans and periapts.
A mendicant's treasure box.
He knows he is cursed
Forever in time
For he was a victor to some
But slaughterer for the slain.