under the spreading pages of history, the nation’s smithy stands.

a demigod graces – us – in the hallways;
his face still shines
like a stone in the sunlight
          his face, shines still
in the textbooks they tell of golden charm
that united an opposition against force of arms
          by stainless steel will
how he sewed together the fabric of a broken nation
with fine acuity, and forty bullets from his Mosin-Nageant
          and an architect’s inspired skill–
in the textbooks they tell of his emboldened heart
for every man a Plan; for every fam a hearth!
I ask thee, dearest countryman:
        who among us should ever desire him to part?
all grace and lenience, almost inhuman, yet humane;
everyone seeks his audience; yet everyone he entertains
loved and feared, a demigod graces us in the hallways.

but you see, the fading jewel of a sagely ancient sits
with forlorn laugh and proud despair
in the seat of youth.
the years of office hang
from the tangles of his fading hair.
the toil never became easier; neither the truth,
that, the problems never cease
there are always jealous enemies
            and even allies must be appeased–
with eyeglassed eyes he reviews
petitions he might choose to approve;
with forlorn laugh and proud despair
he cries, “a little ridiculous! they never improve–”
and smiles a war-torn smile never repaired
“What then should our action be–” the nobles entreat him.
“Should we treat these rogues seriously?”
and with sagely expression he listens to their questions
              like a good leader must–
and with sagely wisdom, they follow the eternal rhythm
asking poison darts, painting over the nation’s sanguine rust