Sweet words have done nothing,
but Rome speaks them, regardless;
she is a toothless whore,
cavorting with men of power & prestige.

Because of her wealth,
they come into her;
but her spirit has been devoured.

Gold, gold, gold,
so many treasures to be seen;
the art of every age, kept safe in her.

Where then are the prophets of this age,
they are in the streets, homeless;
they are in asylums for insane,
they are the wretched, the miserable.

Rome speaks of holiness,
but she has nothing holy in her;
the marrow of her bones is cancerous,
and when the doctors have arrived,
to treat her of her ailments,
she has them seized & arrested.

Rome, how I have loved you,
the depths of my love for you;
cannot be fathomed by man,
but you gave me nothing.

The sweet words you speak, O Rome,
are the bait on the hook;
and when you have caught the fish,
you place her in the maw of Satan,
the one who has devoured you.

©2025 Lucretia Meerim Chosen One