Ambition wanes and waxes again. “Capital!” screams that perennial friend
The tail-chasing dragon, the beast it’s own meal. What power what might, its Achilles’ heel
Will to power or to meekness, to conquer or resent, to ascend, the ascetic, the self to lament
On the bones of the strong the cowardly feast, perverted their pride, inward-turned guilt; may the most be the least and their pride ever wilt
This curse of the ages, the end of the wages of sin, once and for all, god-man, crucified yet again
But such is the turning, the forgetting of past, and this is the meaning of the first become last