On Dark, Satanic, Wills
Dread Attilas come and go
Vain Alexanders rise and fall
Hitlers slump anathematised
In Empire’s derelict Hall
Yes, tyrants by and large are fled
We cleave not to their kind
By passion or by profits led
Crass miasmas of mind
But One remains , yet far from pared
‘tis One that Never Sleeps
In Vigil upon the wuthering Heights
In Watch upon the Deeps
The Brutish weal did not retire
As it passed the baton on
to cloned cousins across the main
achafe to seize the throne:
the lineage is an antic one
that holds us all in thrall
no countenance divine is it
that bears upon us all
builded on dark, satanic, Wills
their might is plain to see
no ring of fire, no bow of gold
bends them to history
heaven waits upon them still
hell hath no room to spare -
as Greed that knows no Boundary
now strips the planet bare
[© R.Kanth 2014 Harvard University]