Calling for conquests like the power hungry
Some absurdist future drowned in thunder
Crushed under the weight of one drop
As the top funnels in to one palace
Lauded as their gilded desire object
Domains of anguish predate total collapse
Under the circumstances of good grace
With a face made-up in power
And their fate; still, written in desire
Flaunting their fires while deprived of gods
When gold is melting on the front porch
And the papers of power ply with the wind
Whispers that bent on and failed to deliver
Turned red then black then faded to ash
Dripping on for their new objects of desire