We cannot stop the crimes from falling.
Was it in the time of Rome, that intrigue liked to die?
As much as they could devise, who they could elect –
hypnotic dissidents plot the movement;
love, but not for another, overfeeds, power is ample.
The sweet synthesis of voices in rebellion resounds.
We were soon grateful we were not so fast
in showing a like love of loyalty. Instead
we were envious – “Is it not my god-given stance?” he asked.
And as with Prometheus, we earth gods split his screams among us. We were no longer who we had been: the once clear path changed
before us. How quickly the last touches of love fled!
The first long night after the deed none can know.
What has been courage by dawn was simply gravity,
happiness, only that which kept the present distant.
To know no more tears of love, or rough tenderness:
and if ever awakening could change body heat,
or translate the attitude of one served
into love without alliance or sudden halt, I answer this:
what begins in change, will always end in change.
-- Megin Jimenez