The wind of history,
the invisible wind…
Poplars stand in glory,
half-orthodox in form,
warriors have risen,
nursed on substitution’s norm.
Sanctions blaze in crimson light,
nerves are drawn and tightly bound,
katanas sharpened for the fight,
golden clocks tick without sound.
Psychohistory
is sealed in stone,
genomes multiplied,
the wolves left unfed,
the East laid low -
the Vatican’s account
has grown instead.
The world stands shaken
by history’s breath…
driven by quanta -
the wind of history!
The unseen wind…