Power
Depose a wicked warrior kingfrom the evil despot's throne;
the once quiet subjects
rattling in hurried silence
their cantankerous chains.
As a child hears in awed muteness
the parents' arduous disclosures,
in a mere twinkling knows
the meaning of knowledge:
one minute illumination
gathers there in universal trust.
Eat in a modern kitchen, stroll
through languid hallways
strewn with gifts of glory
from ancestors in the pretentious past.
Listen as bejeweled guests discuss
with pompous enlightenment
the day's current events.
This practiced artistry,
as if empowered by some ancient,
pagan myth,
extends to realms less grandiose:
the modern mental hospital,
catching the meaningless history
of souls tortured by the voices
of reason and sanity
broadcasting in public arenas,
would shock and amaze
those oh so innocent
broadcasters
who mistakenly pass by
Bedlam's door.
The despot's collar still shines
with gold;
knowledge is lost in silent dungeons
where subjects gasp in filthy air
to keep the doors of sanity ajar,
confused to see the light so easily
snuffed out
in their ancestors' lovely, manicured
drawing rooms,
the warrior's crown shining through
the night.
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