The Second death of Rome -By Robert Fullarton -Copyright Robert Fullarton 2016

The Second death of Rome
-By Robert Fullarton
-Copyright Robert Fullarton 2016


In the age of buying and selling
we feast until the final days
while the dregs of the barrel are emptied
but my soul cannot be sustained
in what I see, In what I feel
I've roamed these teaming streets
midnight pawns on the chess board
a phantom in the hall of mirrors
This masked entourage disturbs me
in the world encroaching city,
like desert sand in my weary heart
The crowds spill out unto the roads
inside my conscience haunted me
while we eat and drink
in these haunts of a failed civilsation
these gastric pantheons,
these mounds of comfort and great disparity
spoke to me
and my soul was troubled in the dead of night
when the advertisements ceased
and the words of hate
were shut from our lips
I started to think and think well,
In a moment a man can see
a retrospective mirror
seeing the full capacity
and the image of his nature
knowing his worst abilities
to pierce the heart and soul
for regeneration
He clasps his hands in prayer
where cities fold like poker hands
This is not the first death
but the second death
of a sickly Rome
from the Alexanderplatz 
to sunset Boulevard