POETRY

On the ruins of Babylon

They howl an old vengeance

As pride and valor;

After having marched

Over a Euphrates of blood

To reside in a den in the Hanging Gardens

Than a nest in a heart.

At the onslaught of darkness,

Among the groves,

Wolves are visiting graves of jackals

For grapes of booty

That may remedy their disease of lust.

Hence, they wish to build another pile

For a heinous greed to vomit a laughter upon,

After they both had barked

At a moon who herladed

The red blast of a silvery dawn.