Heightened sensation of precognition
drew lapsing thoroughfare of cognition
into frantic disembowelment of faction.
Cryogenic remains of what once stirred
the elemental bliss--container not dry,
yet frozen for the present tense.
Sleight of spine, tinged in tears, bludgeoned
self-confidence and castrated the anointed--
words. ever-true. Turned against in desperation.
Panicked, at the thought
of hurting you. Yet hurt was then beckoned
not to one but unto two.
Oceans filled the decanter of dreams
spilled dry…into wounds, opened-healed-
re-agitated by the salt distilled upon.
A sovereign voice
never thought of his own people
only worried- about what pain was paved ahead
/closing the kingdoms door
/refilling the moat
too deadly to cross
/inflicting drought and plague
amongst those intent on protecting.
Sorrow filled the kingdom
from throne room down.
Boss of Guardians beheaded.
The rain will clear
to the point where the antidote can be properly administrated
Those wronged under the premise of intended deeds of noble airs, will return to the kingdom…
One day…filled with hope (and a cure for spine).
One day..I pray.