Where part the endless sands, I stand in awe

of Babylon, now cradled where tall palms

cast dark shadows across the fatal flaw

of civil peace enforced by blood and alms.

Did ancient kings shed tears for sons betrayed,

or hosts of angels grieve for Eden lost?

Was order bought by daughters too afraid

to speak lest honor’s forfeit be the cost?

The lush and fertile valley blooms in spite

of cruel lies, and bitter deceptions,

where palace walls protected all the might

of power-mad impostors, all exceptions

to codes of history’s obligations