Freedom from a distant King

(are we there yet...?)
 
 
letters borne on white billowed sails
flags of distant land  flying
all hail the descending royalties  
smug fat faces shiny and smiling  
oh how they exude benevolence  
 
bend the knees, palms to forehead
deities from the skies, all hail  
never a step missed  
never a frozen face frowned  
words of welcome murmured  
never above the safe decible  
 
they are greedy girth spanned wide
deny them not their food and drinks  
born of the peasants sweat  
palsied fingers paying  
gaping mouths of treasuries  
or else the tilled land of corns are theirs  
 
say not a word or dungeon becomes your home  
write not even on sands for they see all  
trust not in the smiling face of a friend  
for one hand hide what the other does  
work, shackles on your neck to the yoke  
of the keeper of the coins  

Pale faces with peeled eyes
speaks with seeds in their mouth
thrusts the people towards white walls
killing shamans with their books

a trumpet's call a world in chaos
their fingers burnt and they let go
they receded to their island
they are great no more

freedom comes with welded pen
that write a king to his throne  
with the pen man can push him to the ground  
where dogs may not deign to spit