by Nick Gisburne
A tribute to the mightiest of kings
A miracle no god could hope to build
Enriched by worship, each believer sings
But will not live to see the dream fulfilled
A hundred years, a hundred more, and now
The willing, dead, replaced, are servants, slaves
Impossible to fathom that, somehow
This monument will look upon their graves
Forgetting what they do, and why they work
They toil, without a sense of what it means
Exhausted, their descendants dare not shirk
The sacred duty twisted through their genes
The final human lays the final stone
And with no purpose, weeping, dies, alone
