Ghosts of Babylon

    Babylon is fallen, fallen, the great city. Its hanging gardens are non-existent, and its beauty has been raped by milleniums of war and suffering. Where life began, between the Euphrates, and the Tigris; two rivers that flowed with blue current are now whirlpools of blood. An age of truth has been marked by this disgrace caused by men and machines alike. In the past, there has been wars of blood--human blood; but now, it is a war of skeletons--the skeletons of society. Its majesty, and its magnificence has been stripped; all that our ancients had worked for is now put to waste by oil and steel. Here the saints premonintions are clear--the steel shall rule with an iron fist.

    And in those days, men shall seek death, and they shall not find it; and they shall desire to die, but death will not flee. What existed as hopes, and innocent dreams will now be the eve of despair for all those who trek the land. Men live wanting to be heroes, fighting a great battle and saving their country, but unfortunatly a different battle is being fought, and most of its forced participants do not know why. It is not a battle between good and evil, but between two echealons higher and far more superior than the powerful kings who have walked the Earth. In these trying (and dying) times the line between men and machine is quickly blurring, we are being pulled at the mercy of warfare. Not for power, not for conquest, not for salvation, not for redemption, but for a secret that is still being kept from us. Humans are no longer fighting these wars, they are just mere pawns. It is the bombs, the tanks, the missles, and the nuclear arms that have overtaken us. We will be the result of our own destruction, but not our death; it will be what we have created. They, without minds and conscience, will choose who will die through statistics and brutal logics. Death will flee, it has no voice anymore; it only has a duty now.

     In the essence of truth, the truth about all this inhuman and evil, there is a lie that allowed it to fester.  This lie, was reward, the delusion that power and money overhaul love and purity.; and that who recieves such riches and priveleges will surely live a good life, and be remembered as a person who achieved and suceeded. Once death has come, that is no longer an issue or a case. In order to examine one's life, we must die ourselves, but we can never return to preach these truths and our findings.

     In the center of it all, is confusion, sheer confusion that not even the wittiest and wisest men could understand. But, I think the children do. They stop to smell the roses, and appreciate the small things. Their minds are not bent on why there is war, why there is Hell, why there is evil afoot. They focus on the good that is left, and that is what has allowed love to live on--even though its presence seems to be so little.

     When I walked through Babylon in its final days, I can still remember such an image I saw, and such a little thing warmed my heart in such a cold world. It was not fantastic, it was not scary, but I knew it was real. The ancient gardens appeared as a mirage, it was translucent, but it was there, and from the gardens fell flowers. White roses; and from the roses appeared a child in long cornsilk blonde hair, wearing a black dress. She was playing the flowers, and when she became tired, she sat down, and picked one of them up. She drew her nose near, and began to smell them. Her faced glowed and smiled, as she became allured by the purity and the beauty.

    In the distance, bombs began to rang, as explosions arised with piles of fire and smoke. But, the sounds were muted, and the fire quickly diluted. The only sense that came to me at the time, was the smell of the fire and the smoke. I could not hear the screams, 'nor could I see the people dying. Even through the violence of those moments, that image still remained, and so did I--alive.

    

Reviews

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My initial reaction is that this feels and reads more like poetry than pros. It seems like this should be the introduction to a story or even a novel. I do like the prophetic, almost biblical tone of the piece. I like a lot of the imagery here, particularly in the line "...but now, it is a war of skeletons" however I think certain phrases such as "whirlpools of blood" and "stop to smell the roses" are cliches and should probably be reworded or taken out.