The Hanging Gardens of Babylon

The hanging gardens of Babylon, we stole.
Lush vegetation.
Pompous, arrogant kings, seizure.
The smell of injustice intoxicated the spirit with indignation.
 
Fermentation of grapes; to be pressed into wine.
Intellectual, practical logic was left with the loom.
Dried branches to burn in a blazing fire.
Cities, destruction.
 
Grey was circling in the ether.
A tear was more real than a smile.
The neighborhood psychic complained of adultery, as wise men told a tale of deceit.
Truth was like a monkey, dancing for bananas.
 
Envy was currency in the slave trade.
Sensuous pleasures were never enough.
Immoral words, phrases, and sentences reinforced.
Ignorance, forgetting.
 
Purpose; null and void.
Accursed was the muse.
Indulge in the moment.
You can only live once.
 
 
 
Children counted from 1 to 10 backwards.
Role-playing really took its toll.
Without a father, we guessed.
Uncertainty, life, death.
 
Ceremonious sacraments.
Deficient, upon reconsidering merciless pride.
The idol of the cross, the nationalism, technology.
Held higher than conception, the works of hands.
 
Plastic projection.
Courts of law, with their plaques of certification, were the standard of justice.
Polluted and perverted meanings in lies were celebrated.
Sacrifice was lost.
 
They observed seasons without lambs.
Here was a wayward nomad, and there was the tribe of Sunday.
Political agreement couldn't have been more antagonizing.
Drama, vicarious.
 
A decadence, in the expertise of sin.
General confusion, like a black hole.
Vacuous void, volition.
Absorbed in self, individually, collectively.