I look out upon the empire that never knew night
there upon the top, of Cathedral St. Paul; I ran so
high, so fast, my legs now wobble in the cold air.

Uncomfortable I felt, within the sacred place, but
out here, atop the harrowing and haughty dome,
I know the meaning and purpose of all existence.

The British, though snooty and over-confident as
they may be, knew the power of over-doing and
over-creating and showed so for so many years.

Now, I looked at the shell of what was, a great
city that begs to differ on the current state of
world affairs, judged by the people of the streets.

They dare the world to laugh at them,
at their once great kingdom that came
all around the globe and back again,
but who now barely reaches an hour’s
travel across, at any point or intersection.

And we cannot do it. For they are the great and
the once great all in one and we, the Americans,
owe our lives to their ambition, and our freedom
to their failures.