The Zenith
An abecedarian poem about corruption and power.
And what happens to the King who sat on his throne watching peasants
Bow down to his lady the crone as he sucked on the bones of the
Children he
Devoured with exhilaration, exultation, with perverse and hopeless
Excitement that poisoned the court with screaming
Fathers and filled it the brim with mothers who
Gorge themselves on
Hollow sorrow.
Inside the marble walls they scream, "What becomes of me?"
Jackals feast on the poor, that is what becomes of them, but kings?
Kings escape judgment.
Luck is what nourishes his corrupted soul.
Money and gold and goods feed a stream of unfortunate
Nobodies into his midst and down his gullet.
Oranges coat the air and mask the
Putrid scent of cannibalism.
Quaint gods make
Revolting leaders.
Solutions exist in the murky waters of change but...
There is nothing to be done, no fish to catch, no metamorphosis.
Unravelling the throne creates an unfamiliar
Violence and we love the corruption we know.
With our own cracked, bleeding, and grieving hands we put up the
Xanthic wallpaper and the bars on the windows because we
Yearn for the peak of power, we crave the
Zenith.
____________________________________________________
This was real easy until I forgot a letter in the middle. And then again at the end. And the beginning. How'd I do that? Who knows! I swear I know my alphabet.
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Shadowed souls, cursed magic, poetry that tangles itself in your soul and yanks out the ugly darkness from within. Maybe there's something broken in me, but it's in you too.
Ah, also:
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Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
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Comments (4)
I see echoes of your story within my story of dystopia. Is it not sad that this is what we all see for our future. Let us hope still for better. Great poetry here.
Wow! This was so tightly written. I loved, "Quaint gods make Revolting leaders." Amazing work. Even though you stated it in the subtitle, this poem flowed so smoothly that I forgot it was an abecedarian!
Awesome!
Terrific work!