Think. Believe. Rethink.

The Last King

Bow down, King
Pick your head up,
In your own two hands;
For your hands were tied.
But I drew your sword
Your hands of lifeless gold, awakened
At the decision of my blood-soaked steel
Unshackled & Beheaded-
Your raw scalp mimicked my grass,
And planted deep in your barren soil,
Bled up from your filthy veins, resilient
Your crown held you, your place.
Rise up, King
Wipe your iron in the blades you lie in;
For it shall spread like wildfire
Of when your hands, now fluid
Burned the feet you lie beneath.
Your red washed over the blue in my intestine,
Drunk on your blood, which pissed out as water
What a pity!
For you, King.
Gave birth to the barley,
With the support of your crimson hair
The barley you desired, sire
What was pink and oiled,
Was now a gaping hole.
The green grew through the mouth,
Touched not the linings, which would burst it to flames,
Or worse;
Ingest it
Each man, woman, child plucked his tongue,
Tasted barley.
Cry, King
Your inflammatory tears touched the tongue
The barley has swelled, sire!
Puffed too big for you to spit
He ate like he always did – alone
His tongue ordered by the Sun
Which shot his eyes black
The King lay ugly, set in stone, omnipresent
The King’s dream, hath come true!


Your wish is my command, sire.

I am no God
What’s a god to a non-believer?
I am the crowd of people
What do I pick sire, your gold or your honey?
Keep birthing, King
Resign your job
For it is the soil’s, grass’, Sun’s now
You thought you were alone?
You were not privileged to be!


Be quiet King, do not disturb your will,

We have changed its allegiance.
Sit down
You will not eat alone
Eat with us – that is your punishment
Eat with us till your God himself

Cuts off the barley which grows through your dirty, fertile head

Till you finally perish a sweet, bearable death,
With us savages.
But unlucky King
I don’t believe in God
What’s a god to a non-believer?
Go on, eat.
Brief note by the poet:
 In the 4th stanza the ‘iron’ was supposed to be with a capital ‘I’ because in my mind the steel was his sword and the iron, his ego. The blades that he’d wipe them on would be the blades of grass, and was meant to signify the transfer of status/authority from the King to his environment, which once absorbed his power would be able to mould/control his severed head lying in the soil, to use the head itself as the media to grow the barley, the barley which he ate himself in solitude, to the people; with the plant ironically growing through his mouth, which I compare to his new tongue (ironic because it’s still his tongue but he can’t taste barley anymore) [‘Which was once pink & oiled ( because of the barley ) Is now a gaping lifeless hole’ ] thereby rounding off the conclusion to the King’s demise. 
‘Reminiscent’ serves to imply how the king himself exploited (‘Burned’) his subjects, and how he lies in the soil beneath them. (‘The feet he lay beneath’)
All the sentences ending with ‘sire’ are to signify satire and mock. 

1 Comment

  1. August 28, 2015    


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