Of Tigris, and Euphrates, and
Civilization's day,
men still can read the records baked
cuneiform in clay.
Of Egypt's three millenia
through which The Nile rolled,
men still can read The Pharaohs' deeds
on papyrus enscrolled.
Of Marathon, Thermopylae, Plataea
men still speak,
and those inclined can read accounts
penned in the Ancient Greek.
Of Catiline's denouncing,
the day of his failed coup,
in Cicero's own very words
men read in Latin too.
In long dead tongues the ancient texts
are still read every place,
for what The Goddess scratches down
no mere man can erase.
At Alexandria Her Temple
was burned to the ground,
yet even now in legend,
lyric, mythos She is found.
For She will not be silenced.
Her favor can not be plied.
She will not remain long obscured.
She will not be denied.
Yet tyrants try to force Her pen
to sweeten their own page,
and when they pass She outs their truth
with swift and lasting rage.
She has two special volumes, thus,
and always keeps them near,
for those who fight for Liberty,
and those who rule by fear.
So, you D.C. Elitists, know:
She's taken down your names.
Equivocate your actions now,
and play your little games.
do your “Divide and Conquer”,
state which debate you'll allow,
deny what's due tomorrow,
demand, “Now! Now! Now! Now! Now!”.
betray the people, smiling,
and do all things tyrants do,
and know: Goddess Historia
will not look kind on you.
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