deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Ghosts Of Men
When a kind of man
with influence, a
gilded man, whose
servants bear capes with
insignias and carve pillars
of ivory, wields a kind of
confidence bordering on
the mad, in the coming
wars and suffering of
his people, he would
sooner see waste laid to
his kingdom by his own
hand than watch it fall
under any other means.
And the mad king would
disown his only heir, and
thrust deep his contempt into
the very soil his walls are
raised upon. He would slay the
farmers and peasants and
noble artisans from the outright
scorn festering and laying
eggs in his chest. The calamitous
pyres of one man's lunacy roil in
waves, tides breaking against the
city bulwarks.
And the ghosts of men would
hang like a low mist over their
lands, their King's eggs hatched...
Published 30th Jan 2015
| Edited 31st Jan 2015
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Anonymous
31st Jan 2015 00:39am
Speachless...you have great knowledge my friend.
