Of galaxies of fire
Streaming stars of possibility
And supernovas of desire.
A future potent
with hope of a dawn
that would never set
Never darken again.
But you with golden locks
And loafing, languid mind
In oak-dark boardrooms
Spun while all declined
Exhaling tyrant breath
In dreadful mirth
At fate's misfortune -
Your accident of birth.
Bumbling and fumbling
Like an adolescent in the dark,
In a world made small
By your jolly jape, your prefect's lark,
Like a cuckoo in straw,
You might bluster and fluster
And wheeze and deny
With all the deceit you can muster.
But the lyre is broken,
Curtains torn in Empire's hall,
Your days draw late
Whispers echo in coming Fall.
With empty heart and hollow eyes
What spectres you must flee,
In this once-sceptred Isle
Set on a septic sea.
But no Antony, only Brutus
Shall the tin throne attend,
A kindless, covid kiss
Thy final, foolish, bloody end.
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