Powerful

Mad kings and hated men ought be powerful,
In grip, in might, in wroth, but when the hour falls,
Their fate, as cruel as kind, ought be more sorrowful

A moment like a grain of sand,
each memory that you demand,
slips through the fingers of your hand.

I give my life in service of the light

For those innocents who cant, I'll fight

For all time I choose to do what is right

Blessings in disguise, sick all night,
When I awake, the pain I no longer fight,
Call off work; (paid still) a delight.

“When as in custom robes my character goes,
Then, then, methinks, how boldly flows
The metallic clink of her clothes…”

Pour three drafts of the same for every man
who cuts his throat and bleeds across the sand
to cast illusion of a conquered land.