~

Here is a story

    that needs to be told:

Eternal Recurrence,

    gets lost in the fold.

 

This story begins

    at the end of a war,

the war we would win,

    before would be more.

 

As spoils go to victors,

    the mantle was hung –

Hail to our heroes!

    Good weal, everyone!

 

The world  is all changed now,

    from what was before –

Hail, to the victors!

    their triumph at war.

 

A new social order,

    post war world began,

a brand, than Nietzsche’s,

    gives rise to New Man.

 

Not super humans,

    yet heroes the same;

a new social order,

    as yet to be named.

 

Thus, is with history,

    as victory writes:

Time gives us distance,

    what Truth is to light.

 

Spoils to the victors!

    All along they were right.

In post op, it turns up

    a formidable rite.

 

“Beware lest we stare at,

    into an abyss:

The monster may glare back,

    beget unto us.”

 

From flowing of power

    a new culture spreads;

the halcyon hour

  was ours to be had.

 

Relish this hour

    and dance full ahead;

power will glower,

    the hour grows dead.

 

A slice of the story,

    like that of a ray:

one day, the glory;

    the next, fades away.

 

Theirs is not ours;

    ours is what is.

They make it, we break it,

    then begin again.

 

Those caring heroes

    seek closeness to fame;

others still bother,

    to break and lay blame.

 

Spoils go to victors,

    or so history claims;

but who will be victors,

    if nothing remains?

 

Venal corruption,

    it never will change.

Ecce Homo,

    all human, the same.

 

As new social orders

    go fast into flame,

one day its heroes

    get named other names.

 

Ecce Homo,

    a story of fame;

Eternal Recurrence,

    leaves each one the same.

~

 

 

©2014, Marvin Welborn

12 May 2014. Revised 13 May 2014.