Ghazal for an Empire

Tobacco in a god’s broad hand. What does it matter?
He dies a little from each drag’s demands, but what does it matter?

He looks out his door, imagining his last words. What does it matter?
He’s not caring to understand, and what does it matter?

Abraham nearly shed his own blood. What does it matter?
That knife in his outstretched hand — what does it matter?

Stars prick the sky as dusk deepens. What does it matter?
Each light’s more than he can stand, and what does it matter?

War’s got more meaning for him than peace. What does it matter
that he lives each day all unmanned — what does it matter?

He draws the rich smoke in, blows it back out. What does it matter
that he seeks death, something grand — what does it matter?

American-eyed, haunted, unwelcome, and what does it matter
that he rules the stolen land — what does it matter?

He draws again on the fire he’s chosen. What does it matter
if he dies? The future’s best when unplanned — what does it matter?

A king smokes his way toward his own death. What does it matter
how many others he kills by command? What does it matter?

~~~

…ok, a loose ghazal at best, I know…just experimenting with the form…