Rome's Whispers

Roaming about I can’t seem to shake this drape upon my existence and society. Between the froyo shops or takeouts when I see those walking about I feel the coins clank and then I knew, once again, the chains in place: ah, at last, here’s Rome’s rule. Forever since.

All this shared history has been a lie since inception; e pluribus unum as a prophecy said and done. The eagle flies high, upon the imperial trident — the armies of bronze fitted men resigned to overflow a central command and shaping our shared existence. How it curls about all the other parallels — run, run, you don’t understand!

Our three branches outfitted for dissolution. Into one, always hidden. Into one, though it’s always been.

My satchel of gold comes printed with the skulls of slaves groaning. With each bike pedal I know, finally, that I’m riding the horse of a straggler and fully deceived this is the path to some redeemer. You can’t redeem what you haven’t abandoned. Only well laid plans remain certain. Plans made since the founding or foundings prior — Charlemagne sliced that province with full view of our entire waiting rail-tracks to well-intentioned slaughter.

Technology and modern fashion sense may make it seem a twenty-first century existence we share. But I’ll file in beside the next Roman peasant, enjoying the same stroll, and upon the square I can no longer see it as any different.

What a masterful construction. For thousands of years a torch passed.

I wonder if we’ll ever see what’s next.