The Pillar Of Tears
It was an Eastern cistern underground -
a chamber dim of columns; once the key
to waters pure - slaves built it for the free;
a patterned pillar yet unchanged was found
whose frozen tears seemed but to break in sound -
the tears were notes – a silent symphony
of suffering they made – a melody
of unheard souls, that soothed each spirit's wound.
Their voices formed a chorus - this they sang:
'We are the ghosts of tired limb and mind;
how tedious did our despot ruler find
our sorrows - he whose name down ages rang;
the hidden world in life we drifted through,
while monuments majestic shrine the few.'