An old nomad in the desert
From a land far off does he stray,
Expelled from his eminent throne
He once quaffed the nectar of kings
And now, it is all that remains
He lifts the chalice to his lips
And while he pours it to his mouth,
The earth has taken her revenge,
-Ari Gilder, 10/31/01
Carries his estate in his hands;
A burdensome and worn satchel
And his holy golden chalice.
Condemned to eternal exile.
Once a venerable sultan,
Now a pitiful vagabond.
And bereft of his majesty,
He wanders now with but a sack
And beloved aureate flask.
In the company of princes,
And he would display his goblet
Ornamented in arrogance.
Of days long lost and forgotten,
And so he cherishes it most
Of all his meager possessions.
Wishing to return home but once.
He tilts back his head with the cup,
And readies to taste the sweet wine.
He falls with the chalice in hand.
A cough, a choke, and then he dies
From drinking nothing but hot sand.
Or perhaps the power above,
Upon a corrupted old man
Whose wealth and power were his love.