The Throne of Cyrus

20 March 2023

I feel the weight of Cyrus,
feel is pulsing, feel it moving
through these very words, within
though not without. I feel inspired
and afraid. When bones are laid
in stone-faced mausoleums, when the Shah
himself weeps madly, when the architects
of rule both here and there speak only well,
I am afraid. What fingers clutched the sceptre
as all Persia trembled? Then sang highest praise?
Perhaps the victims of abuse defend abusers,
love abusers, with a love that can't be tamed.
If this be so, how would we know?
With minds beclouded, thoughts well-trained,
we'd sing the hymns of him
who put us in our place. True, Greece and Rome
have put up manly struggles, to what end?
To place themselves upon the throne?
And what of us? Do we dare disabuse, again,
before that mighty throne?