When the eagles began to fall from the sky,
the world succumbed to unprecedented terror.
The foundations crashed and deteriorated, engulfed in
the flames of congestion and irregularity, broken
into the fragments and pieces of a puzzle left scattered on the floor,
as if some smiting hand had
blown the greedy regime apart.
Blame be placed on him and her, they and them, and
anyone worth pointing the grizzly finger of
death at, yet no one configured into the doomed equation
Could focus in on itself.
Call it karma.
Call it business.
Babylon fell in the blink of an eye, torn asunder
by those who had built the marvel to begin with.
Like the inevitable collapse of Rome, rocks
became their shelters of choice, hiding their faces
from those viewing the prosecution
heading the witch hunt, and the
trials and tribulations of the
tentative, tenacious tenants involved.
Enslaved by their own selfish desires, some
fell later, fire engulfing their practitioners, like
some Vesuvius crest, surges of fatal flaws ripping
the realms apart like a hungry shark
who has sensed blood in the water.
Sealing their souls away in cold, gray stone, their
processions trek through the heated sands,
the finale commenced, a poetic benediction delivered,
with a burial that destroyed a legacy.