The fall

  

The fall

I was never rich anyways, but at least had my soil, stones and ashes to fill my soul.
I had my wastelands, the ugly, unyielding nothings supposedly mine. I had sheep, sheep they were, all fine. 

Then, You enslaved me, emasculated me, made me look a dying beggar asking for crumbs, a refugee wanting to be called as one's own.
I never wanted and never ll be a part of glory your idea enshrines.
I am not yet dead, and dead i never shall, always, still unwilling and unhappy for the adulatory overhaul. 

You are well-intentioned and your farce too, for that be the cause of your fall...