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Every Remaining Last God
Covered by cloud the out-of-sight tops of soaring towers,
Buckling under their own weight, beginning to topple from
Those airy heights;
The gaping breach - the once impregnable outer wall!
The inner keep ablaze with greedy, insatiable flame;
A thunderous cacophony of crashing cymbals and blaring
Horns...and the whole World immersed into madness.
Pulled up above the line of the high-water mark
The bleached, gnarly boards of the depleted Longships;
And when hurriedly stripped bare of briny hempen rope and white sail.
The golden sands burning with all the power of a million
Candle lights;
And below a shattered sky...an enormous, disintergrating Sun
Collapsing into a hissing sea!
And now you come to tell me that Agamemnon is dead.
Dead? Is that how you say it: "Great Agamemnon is...dead."
So it is done then. Every remaining last God to be brought here,
Together;
This terrible thing. For never will such be demanded again.
Copyright ©
John Fleming
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