An empire is a poem of ideas..
Under a mosaic of Bellerophon fighting Chimera,
Justinian sits alone in a gilded chair,
Religiously dreaming of the glory,
A new Rome worthy of his name.
His hands grasp the bread and wine,
The liturgy of power and pretence,
Each hour’s ceremonial his burden.
Now rash,now indecisive, he coddles
His own impurpled arrogance for all,
And laughing barbarians invade the borders
Of his dreams, his words, his realm.
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