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As the sun fades o’er the water and birds chatter in the grove,
Two old, wrinkled, weary thinkers wander slowly by the cove.
Waves advancing and receding from the edges of the sea
Bring a bittersweet reminder of the things which failed to be.

Like the gloom above the water, they see history unfold,
Over men’s destinies, passions, unforgiving scepter hold.
As a cloud of heavy darkness o’er the limitless expanse,
Present, past, the very future are but pebbles in their hands.

To a bench in the old harbor they descend and take a seat,
Where their troubles they unburden every time they chance to meet.
One aged master stands in wonder at the beauty of the view, 
While the other starts, with sadness, his life story to review:

“Hatred, envy, dread and fire, painful things I understand
And the soul’s most secret workings I can write out in the sand.
But, despite this precious knowledge and insight, I have a fetter
Which, insulting, reprimanding, I must carry to the letter.”

“For too long I’ve lived on Patmos isolated like a ghost
And by high decree commanded here to languish by the coast!
Once renowned and well respected, in Academies received,
All I have now is the shadow of the glories I have lived.”

“Bold discourses, fine attire, admiration from great men
Were all lost and I was given in exchange a prison den;
And, from all the wondrous splendor and richesse of Roman art,
I was taken to the gallows by a soldier in a cart.”

“Much as I had put my people and my honor above all,
Not a single word or action could at last prevent my fall,
For inside the Coliseum and the marble halls of Rome
A new cult and gravest danger uninvited found a home.”

“Surging waves of superstition from the Great Sea’s eastern banks
Have for many years infested all the army and its ranks.
Countless monks and shrewd fanatics with no passion for our culture
Have for three centuries labored to dethrone the Roman vulture.”

“From Hibernia to Egypt, from Hispania all egregious,
Many fools and witless beggars have in stupor joined their aegis.
Marble statues of the heroes, the art treasures of the world,
Were by angry hammers tortured and the stone in markets sold.”

[Continued in Part 2]

Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
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