alaric on the walls.
let oil-black plumes of mingling smoke arise;
the visigoths have taken rome. we’ve won
mere plunder; little justice has been done.
the famous roman dream, we’ve learned, applies
to only those deemed worthy in their eyes -
not streams of stateless refugees who’d come
to seek asylum from approaching huns.
they turned us back, and taught us we’re despised.
they mocked us for our trousers and our shoes;
we led their armies; still they kept us down
and gothic blood has often stained these streets;
we sought safety and land, and were refused.
we tried our best to serve the roman crown;
perhaps they will respect us in defeat.