Go, they said, and build anew.
Eyes averted not to note
Present and past decay,
Lips stretched in grinning lies.
Was I so blind?

This is no new land.
Here is only the litter and blight
Of vanquished glories,
Empire and Old Republic
Jousting in ghostly tiltyards,
Stumbling toward cataclysmic abyss.

And on this worm-eaten foundation,
Am I to construct ordained tomorrows,
Tutor the bewildered in fresh deceit?

Am I to stand on blood-soaked ground,
Architect of catastrophes undreamt,
Clad in the mantle of destiny,
While the winds scream with my voice
That I had no choice?

You, who stand with mouths agape,
Hear me when I tell you
That allegiance to lies is no true calling.
And you, who stir in death’s disquiet,
You who thought to own me, know this:

I am not your resurrection.