if my life is so sad
and the blues hang over me
with loneliness in company of one

if that be so
I would not have ghosts
or those sediments always low
gnashing and wailing in anger and bile

life force of the blessed
illuminates the searing anguish
of the infirm and the bonded losers
scavenging in the refuse of their soiled birth rights
clasped in the hatred of disfavoured wounded dreamers

the Acropolis stands firm
foundation testament to gifted artisans
in hails and hurricanes its splendours shines forth
and the prodigal beggars roam the cobbles of their caves
casting pebbles at towers and indebted to patrons of Bacchus
blinded miscreants foul rages against the sublime as dullards do.