Alea Iacta Est
poem — © 2019 Matthew de Lacey Davidson
With no stirring pronouncements made,
no dramatic flourish nor battle cry of distant trumpets,
no armies staking claim upon a new indulgence,
the Rubicon was crossed
(or rather, the Yangtze and the Mississippi
if you want to be precise).
The Commercial Imperialists
(de facto representatives of a cultural militia)
lay waste upon a small lagoon
and similar to woodworm,
bore holes into the body of the wooden sculpture
while leaving external frames
(superficially, at least)
plastic and pretty for the oblivious and trinket-hungry tourists.
Sherman’s March extends into Murano
and ancient edifices advertise
material possessions which (for the most part)
are available in the homelands of the visitors.
With machine-like certitude, they see
commodities instead of cherished art;
and whereas diligence and artisanship
are swept aside by a typhoon of
phone-cameras, video-games, and text-messages,
the Empty and the Shallow monetarily impress the multitudes
with their purchases of One-Thousand-Euro bottles of wine
which they then (without a moment’s hesitation) mix
with disgusting, bubbly, sugary canned drinks.
“Salute! Cent’anni!”
Tacky champagne glasses firmly in hand,
the Robber-Barons dare not see beyond
the eye-less plastic counterfeits
which cost comparative pennies
to the delightful, sparkling, gold and multi-coloured originals
(with hundreds of years of tradition in the making).
Sorrowful tears of greed’s loss pour down upon
the now-empty workshops,
darkened, with tools scattered in all directions,
floors cracked, with cobwebs formed across the rooms.
Even Mastro Geppetto finds himself homeless,
devoid of means to support himself;
beggared upon the streets –
as the price of everything becomes the value of nothing.
The improper imprisonment of the person,
at times,
is demonstrably no less heinous than
the subjugation of the soul;
but Caesar rarely gives much thought
to the soldiers who have fallen.
No end to culture’s genocide, despite how we implore;
Veni, Vidi, Vici — and Venice is no more.
