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Thursday, January 12, 2006


by Scott Malby

America, through the gates of all nations
the wind comes to blow and the sand
to rummage through scraps of glass.
Persepolis, Susa, Parsargadae.
Faded images of glory; bulls, flying
lions, whose halls of a hundred columns
were to last forever, where are they now?
Be humble America, dust is our legacy.
Like a buried tablet you will become.
An artifact. A hollow gourd, blowing at dusk
the end song of empire.

Scott Malby is a frequent contributor to journals worldwide.