Epilogue (for my book Monarchy- in stores soon)

       All things come around full circle when they should. Karma beats the dust brought by the sands of time. Every child eventually dances and every unrighteous flower withers; cold and dry solace. Every pointed finger falls and time…time she freezes as she so desires,
But we know that in times to come he who is a fool shall be a fool still, he who is righteous shall be righteous still, he who is devoid of understanding but wants it shall find it and the hateful hearts shall lay broken, shattered and trampled upon, ground into the sands of time like brothers, and frozen like the dust in a coffin somewhere, somehow reflecting.
       It is true that everyone sings. Every heart is a song and every life is a stave. And when concrete is poured in a flute it gets hard. But that doesn’t mean the flute shall not sing for she still wears the garments of a flute and she still dreams of her old fluttering dances. She dreams with her heart; the heart of a flute and eventually concrete crumbles to dust again.
       From dust we came and to dust we shall return…such is the monarchy of all our lives. No man shall escape it, no trophy shall outshine it, no words shall prevent it and no crown can separate death from death. What separate us are our songs, some horror, wreaking havoc in undefended countries and some sweet lullabies soothing aching hearts. For who shall escape the dust save the soul that stands worthy of such an exemption? The noblest knight cannot attain such a glory, but he who endures to the end shall have a crown…a real crown and not the gold ones worn by ravenous wolves for queens seeking whom they may devour. A real crown and not the ones made by the blood of innocent lives or the ones held over the heads of little girls as muzzles. He who endures, or she, shall reign in the hearts of the powers that be and shall thrive in season and out. He who escapes the dust has truly lived a life pleasing to God, the only true monarch who doesn’t have to prove His power through vain and intimidating words which never suffice.
      The oppressed shall always be heard. Their voices shall cry and someone shall hear and stand, but to the wicked kings shall be delivered death and no posterity. To the wicked king shall the tears of the oppressed be a raging river. He shall drown by them and shall eat the fruit of his labour like every man. We all know that an evil tree produces corrupt fruit. What then shall his portion be? His false kingdom shall fall on his head for he has ceased to please the only true monarch who could remove him by a wink of the eye. All hail the King of kings!