Pax Romana

Vicious Nexus

That sweep of time that no one sees but I,
who feel it in each breath and know the change
the tides of it that flowed and how they worked
and made it what it was, a dream of peace
a city-state, blown great to Empire, fast
without a clear succession, flawed at heart.
But still a flame that catches light and warms:
civility behind the army's shield,
roads running straight past towns and fields and schools,
a place for all to serve, and all gods named,
a dream of justice and the rule of law
where outlanders could learn and often did.
But at the heart of law the centre cracked
no place to hold a king, no sovereignty
but always civil war, the army's choice,
the state can not be saved, the best alone
shall take the apple, Eris' vicious joke.

Cursus Honorum

The race of honours everyone can win
who cares to serve, who's known and true and fit
elected by the tribes who flock to vote,
to civil service, home, abroad, and war,
to fill each rank in turn and all may rise
to one year's ruling power and make a name
their sons are proud to bear, for honour's sake.
But when the quickest way to win the game
is victory in war, and troops need pay,
and land on their return, when you resign
authority and power but still have troops
and troops have needs that are not met, not yet,
it only takes one thought unthinkable
(that these troops took a city, could take Rome,)
and swiftly, civil war, it cracks and breaks,
elections, trials and justice bought and sold
but honour's empty name still lauded high.

Jo Walton, Summer 1996, Lancaster. Do read and enjoy this poem but do not reproduce it in any way without permission

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