Moonlight, Strandgade 30 (1900-1906) – Vilhelm Hammershøi (1864–1916) Oil on canvas, 41 x 51.1 cm; On view at The Met Fifth Avenue, Gallery 813. Hammershøi’s Moonlight, Strandgade 30 captures the stillness of night in his Copenhagen apartment, where light and shadow become the true subjects of the scene. Photograph courtesy The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Public Domain
A poem by D.S. Yarab, reflecting on the fleeting nature of time, the way memories persist even as moments dissolve, and how the quiet glow of moonlight can stir both longing and serenity.
Whispers of the Waning Light
The misted pane distorts the night, A wavering world in silvered hue, The lamplight bends—a trembling sight, Yet past and present shimmer true.
The clock-hands drift in softened glide, Their silent whispers feign retreat, Yet memories, steadfast at my side, Hold time within their quiet seat.
A voice long stilled, yet clear it sings, A scent unbidden lingers near, As if the years had feathered wings, And bore me back to what was dear.
Yet all dissolves in drifting haze, Elusive as the frost-bound air, What tempts the mind, what thought betrays, What hand still grasps what is not there?
So let the veils of time unwind, No rush to capture or define— For in the fleeting, we may find That all was ours, yet none was mine.
We are a nation without reason. We are a nation without morals. We are a nation without purpose.
We have failed our inheritance. We have failed our promise. We have failed our future.
Once, we were a people who sought wisdom in the governance of reason, who fashioned our republic in the crucible of Enlightenment thought. We held that truth could be discerned, that knowledge was the safeguard against tyranny, that free inquiry was the antidote to superstition. Yet, we have cast aside the intellect of our forebears, bartering reason for the cheap currency of factional dogma, of ignorance parading as virtue.
Once, we understood that a republic, to endure, must be anchored in moral responsibility. The city upon a hill was not merely a boast—it was a charge, a demand, an expectation. Yet, we have allowed that moral vision to fragment, perverted into empty postures of righteousness, where sectarian division supplants shared virtue, and the sacred call to justice is drowned in the clamor of self-interest.
Once, we were a people of purpose, our liberties not mere indulgences but the instruments of human dignity and national strength. We were called to the defense of freedom, not merely for ourselves but for those who would follow. Yet, today, our purpose dissolves in the tide of complacency, our freedoms bartered for fleeting comforts, our equality abandoned to the rising chorus of cynicism and despair.
All factions—left, right, and center—have forsaken the principles that once defined us. Each has wrapped itself in the illusion of virtue while kneeling at the altar of Mammon. We claim fidelity to truth, but we scorn reason when it contradicts our desires. We speak of morality, yet we wield it as a weapon rather than a compass. We invoke purpose, but only as rhetoric to mask our pursuit of power and comfort.
And so we arrive at Today.
If we are honest—if we strip away our illusions and stand before the bar of judgment without recourse to excuse, evasion, or self-justification—we must confess: we are all complicit. No single faction bears this burden alone, nor can any claim the mantle of righteousness. We, the people, have chosen indulgence over discipline, grievance over responsibility, spectacle over substance. And in that choosing, we have undone the Republic.
But we are not bound to our ruin.
We must restore reason. We must restore morality. We must restore purpose.
To do so, we must abandon the golden idols who are unworthy to serve us, the oligarchs who plunder us, the ideologies that subvert reason. We must cast aside the anger, the bitterness, the division that have led us to forsake one another, that have severed us from our future and our purpose. If we are to be a people again—if we are to reclaim the inheritance we have squandered—we must choose anew. Not comfort, not grievance, not self-interest. We must choose to be worthy of the Republic, or else surrender to its final dissolution.
If we continue on our present course, where do we go?
If we have abandoned reason, morality, and purpose, what remains?
It is no longer a question of mere decline but of transformation. A Republic that ceases to be a Republic does not simply fade into irrelevance; it becomes something else, something unrecognizable to those who once believed in its founding principles. Have we already crossed that threshold? Have we slipped, not merely toward decay, but into authoritarianism?
The signs are unmistakable. A government that no longer serves its people but instead entrenches power. A citizenry that, weary of self-governance, willingly submits to rule by force or deception. A society that exalts spectacle over substance, division over unity, and vengeance over justice. These are the hallmarks of a nation no longer free in spirit, even if it still pretends to be free in form.
Authoritarianism does not always come with the fanfare of a coup or the boot of the oppressor; more often, it arrives in whispers, in the slow erosion of rights once taken for granted, in the willing abdication of responsibility by a people who have lost the will to govern themselves. It arrives when power, unchecked, ceases to be accountable. When the institutions meant to preserve liberty instead secure their own perpetuity. When law becomes a weapon, wielded not for justice but for control.
If we have not yet fallen fully into authoritarianism, then we are on its precipice. A people who no longer hold their leaders accountable, who no longer value reason, morality, or purpose, will find themselves ruled—not by wisdom, not by justice, but by those who know only how to command and demand obedience.
And so, we face a choice.
Do we accept this slow descent into tyranny, consoling ourselves with the illusion that we are still free, so long as we are comfortable? Do we resign ourselves to the idea that the Republic was always doomed, that we are powerless to reclaim it?
Or do we resist?
To resist is not merely to oppose a party or a faction. It is not to trade one demagogue for another. True resistance is the restoration of the very things we have abandoned: reason, morality, and purpose. It is the rejection of fear and cynicism, the refusal to accept the inevitability of our own undoing.
It is to say, as those before us have said in darker times: not yet, not now, not here.
The Shattered Eagle is a poignant examination of constitutional crisis and democratic decay in modern America. Through vivid imagery and elegiac tone, it traces the symbolic fall of the American Republic, using the eagle as a metaphor for a nation once soaring with purpose but now battered by corruption, authoritarianism, and civic erosion. This meditation on institutional collapse examines the deterioration of checks and balances, the rise of illiberal power, and the fraying of democratic norms.
Themes and Significance
The poem critiques the erosion of constitutional democracy, judicial independence, and legislative integrity. It reflects on how demagoguery, partisan dysfunction, and the corruption of public institutions have undermined democratic ideals and the rule of law. Through its exploration of societal polarization and institutional decay, it captures the zeitgeist of a republic in crisis.
Yet amid constitutional peril and democratic backsliding, the poem poses a crucial question about renewal. Its final stanzas challenge readers to consider whether civic restoration is possible through recommitment to democratic principles and constitutional values.
A Poem for Our Times
Rich in metaphor and steeped in political philosophy, The Shattered Eagle invites readers to confront the realities of democratic erosion while contemplating paths to institutional renewal. Drawing on the tradition of great political poetry like Yeats’s The Second Coming and Auden’s September 1, 1939, this work speaks to the universal struggle to preserve constitutional democracy and the rule of law in an age of mounting illiberalism.
The Shattered Eagle
Once soared an eagle, wings outspread, Its cry a clarion, freedom bred. From gilded heights, it carved the skies, Its dreams a nation dared to rise.
Yet winds of discord tore its plume, Ambition’s torch became its tomb. The golden thread of union frayed, As shadows deepened, hope decayed.
Where laws were forged by reason’s might, Now darkness shrouds their guiding light. Once sworn to serve the commonweal, They sold their oaths for power’s appeal.
The halls once rang with measured voice, Where reason swayed the public choice. Yet now the chambers echo lies, As honeyed tongues weave thin disguise.
No laws they craft, but favors they sell, To oligarchs who cast their spell. Once stewards strong, they now kneel low, To serve a leader’s fleeting glow.
The scales of justice, firm and true, Now tilt, corrupted, favoring the few. Once blind, now stained with partisan hue, They take their bribes in plainest view.
No fealty now to law's command, But whispers guide the justices’ hand. From lofty heights, the court descends, A tool for power, not amends.
The eagle's perch, the people's trust, Now yields to one with tyrannous lust. The laurels fall, the wreath departs, A crown is forged for lawless hearts.
No equal here, a king ascends, While truth dissolves and honor bends. The oath betrayed, the power abused, A throne of lies by fear infused.
The wheels once turned to serve the land, Now falter at one man’s command. Where duty reigned with steady hand, Now chaos thrives and rot expands.
The gears once turned with steady grace, Impartial hands for every case. Now oiled with fear, the cogs obey, A sovereign’s whims, the people's dismay.
No law to guide, no truth to bind, The constitution lies maligned. The servants sworn to guard the land Now yield to lash at one command.
Ideals once held as shining beacons, Now crumble ‘neath the weight of treasons. Their lofty light, now dimmed and lost, Is bartered for ambition’s cost.
The shining hill, a beacon high, Now shrouded 'neath a darkened sky. Its lofty dreams by greed betrayed, By hands of those whose hearts decayed.
No vision guides, no ideals inspire, But petty aims and base desire. The noble pact, to truth once sworn, Now trampled, tattered, and forlorn.
A fractured land, a shattered will, Where hatred reigns and hearts grow still. What union stood now falls apart, Its seams undone by poisoned hearts.
The land now split by faction’s line, Where rancor festers, hopes decline. The brother turns on brother’s hand, And hatred scorches all the land.
No union binds, no concord stays, But discord reigns in endless days. Society rent, uncivil, torn, A weary people, broken, worn.
...
A weary people, broken, worn, Where shadows fall and freedoms mourn. Yet seeds may bloom, if hearts remain, Resolved to rise through toil and pain.
One of the most striking images from Montaigne’s Essays, which has lodged itself firmly in my mind, comes from his Apology for Raymond Sebond. Specifically, within one paragraph, he uses wheat as an extended metaphor or an allegory wherein he suggests that the more wisdom or knowledge one acquires, the more humble one becomes. He writes:
To really learned men has happened what happens to ears of wheat: they rise high and lofty, heads erect and proud, as long as they are empty; but when they are full and swollen with grain in their ripeness, they begin to grow humble and lower their horns. (Montaigne, 1963, p. 227)
The image captures what I have found to be my experience insofar as that, with each passing year, as my hair has silvered and my eyes dimmed, I have found that wisdom requires casting the certitude, rigidity, and knowledge of youth aside for the humility of lived experience.
Additionally, I find the lesson to be an extraordinary corollary to my personal motto, about which I have previously written, Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae (humility is the beginning of wisdom).
Thus, having reflected if not obsessed upon Montaigne’s insight for well over a fortnight, I finally shaped my thoughts about it into a poem, the results of which are below.
The Ripened Ear (Inspired by Montaigne)
Beneath the sun’s unyielding gaze, it grows, The tender stalk, upright and full of pride, Its hollow strength unbent by winds that blow, Yet void of fruit, it stands unsatisfied.
But time, the patient sower, bids it yield, To weight of grain within its swelling breast, It bows its head, as on the golden field, The burdened ear finds wisdom’s humble crest.
So too the soul, in ignorance, stands tall, Unbowed by truths it dares not yet to see, Until the harvest’s gentle weight does call, And bends the heart to find humility.
For wisdom ripens where humility’s sown, And humbleness, by wisdom, is full-grown.
Montaigne, M. de. (1963). Essays and selected writings: A bilingual edition (D. M. Frame, Trans. & Ed.). St. Martin’s Press.
Guillaume Guillon Lethière (French, 1760 – 1832) The Death of Virginia, about 1825–1828, Oil on paper, mounted on canvas. Unframed: 73.5 × 117 cm (28 15/16 × 46 1/16 in.). The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 2023.7
Livy’s History of Early Rome offers a timeless case study in the corruption of power through the story of Verginia. In Book 3, Appius Claudius – a member of the decemviri tasked with codifying Roman law – becomes consumed by lustful desire for Verginia, a young woman of plebeian birth. Unable to win her through legitimate means, he orchestrates a fraudulent court case to claim her as a slave, abusing his authority to ensure the verdict.
When her father Verginius, a soldier, arrives to defend his daughter, he finds the machinery of justice has been wholly perverted to serve Appius’s desires. Faced with no recourse against this tyranny, Verginius takes his daughter’s life in the forum rather than see her enslaved and defiled. His tragic act galvanizes both the people and army, leading to the overthrow of the decemviri and restoration of constitutional government.
The story has relevance today as we witness how unchecked power still corrupts, with modern figures who – like Appius – seduce both masses and elites with promises of reform while pursuing personal gain and dismantling democratic safeguards. The allusive poem I drafted below below explores this persistent danger, using Verginia’s sacrifice to illuminate the cost of our collective failure to recognize and resist tyranny in its early stages.
The Wages of Compromise: The Blood of Verginia
Beneath the rostra’s shadowed height, he stood, The man whose gilded words had bought the crowd. Their cheer, a wreath for virtue misconstrued, Their gaze averted, though his deeds grew loud. What harm, they thought, if petty sins abound? A jest, a taunt, though brazen, met no plea; The slights were not whispered, though unjust, Personal gain o’er public trust was clear to see.
Yet they excused what honesty would shun, For promised change, for vengeance lightly jested. The wrongs of old made present wrongs seem none; A brighter future claimed, though untested. And so, unchecked, his shadow stretched and grew, Till justice bowed before his grim designs. A father’s hand, with love and fury true, Struck down the bonds of tyranny’s confines.
Her blood, a warning, sanctified the square, The people’s slumber shattered by her cry. The forum rang with shouts that pierced the air, The dream of freedom breathed, though she must die. No longer could they feign or look away— Their wish for ease had birthed a tyrant’s reign. The jest of vengeance turned to ash that day, And Appius fled, undone by grief and shame.
Let not the lesson fade within our time: That deeds unchallenged fester into might. To mock the law, to cloak a crime sublime In promised gold, ensures the coming blight. The people’s trust, the lords’ approving nod, May crown a man or break his staff and rod.
Northcoast Antiquarian 