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Burning the Boats to Hesperion

No reason and No rhyme

Burning the Boats to Hesperion

22
Nov08

Constantine in the East

 

I’m an hostage of the east.

a prisoner to the never-ending plains of Asia

and the long wars of the Persians.

A token of my father’s allegiance to Galerius of Babylon.

 

the Emperor has trapped me in my victories.

Shunning me, whilst drawing me near…

 

I fear for my life.

Death haunts me as an overfriendly ghost,

and the fear has made life more precious by the wanting..

 

as if it was made bigger by the terror that is Constantine in Galerius heart.

 

For when the Emperor fears you,

you are more than a man.

You’re a threat,

 

to the empire,

to stability,

 

to the universe of appeased gods and functioning cities,

of paid taxes and tributes to the priests,

to the land of open roads and open markets…

 

of faces in coins known by all as their rulers.

 

A threat to Rome.

 

 

 

                                                            II

 

 

Poor, poor Galerius…

still bargaining with his little deities…

expecting,

and getting

this should be said

all the small tokens that the small gods bestow on their servants.

 

Ruling his armies…

fighting the barbarians for glory,

and killing christians for pleasure…

believing its puny deities as the cause of his victories.

All right,

all,

            in his own mind

as it should be.

But,

 

not for long.

 

 

 

For Galerius is, now, the bloated ruin of an Ilirian general,

of a men of honor,

bond,

soul…

 

 

Today he is but a Emperor,

and he denies himself to keep it so.

 

 

                                                            III

 

 

Yesterday I was victorious.

Yesterday I was the Man in the battlefield.

In the gruesome field of death I was alive,

as all died,

I was touched by the hand of Nike!

 

I was victorious.

 

 

The Emperor’s generals guided me to the thickest of the battle,

so the swords of the Persians would do what he feared to do himself.

 

I’ve survived this…

time and again…

 

I’ve been put to such tests that no man who was not one with destiny,

could have endured.

 

Three times I was ordered to die,

Three times I disobeyed it by being triumphant.

But I will not tempt the fates once more.

 

I am, at last,

alone with my fate

and my destiny is elsewhere…

 

farther west…

in the land of believers,

not philosophers.

 

God! I’m sick of Babylon!

 

 

Away from this punctilious bearers of sacrifices,

and their obscene want for social order!

 

as if there was such a need in the mind of God.

 

As if their haggling deities could see through the thickness of their walled cities and the incense of their sycophantic priests.

Little gods for little men.

 

Not for me.

Not for me the error of the old ways.

 

These are the things no one would do,

that no one would want to do,

unless forced to by the stupidity of Galerius laws!

 

 

Galerius…

 

my father remembers him as good soldier and a plain soul.

He’s right.

 

 

This soldier sees the Empire as is own villa.

Ruling it with the blind insouciance of a paterfamilias.

He’s blind.

 

Blind for he not sees it as a living breathing organism…

 

The Living Empire,

moving trough us and in the blood of many,

intent only in its own existence.

 

and Galerius does not belong to it any longer.

 

 

I am now.

the future of us all.

 

 

 

 

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