Through the hallowed halls He strides

A nod here, a smile there at the blurry faces

Streaming by

A mobile in the palm

He scrolls through the messages

Ignoring the bodies suspended in hypnagogic hallucinations

Strewn across the floor

He glances at his watch – it’s half past noon

Let the children lie – they’re children after all

His favorite repast waits


His retinue waits

An assemblage of tired, weary faces

Bound by duty to venerate the title

To pay homage to a regime

That knows neither head nor tail

Blinded by faith or browbeaten into submission

Not a whimper or sigh escapes their lips

It’s best to go with the flow


Counsel from the wise falls on deaf ears

He holds the title he knows best

Like a boy scout he pledges honor and commitment

Within seconds his promises wither

He humors the sage and pretends to listen,

His mind floating overhead waiting for the chime

His favorite repast waits


Everything is under control

He recites like a mantra to the Gods before him

Everything in under control

He recites to his silenced retinue

Everything is under control

He still believes as mindless, uncouth ruffians

Desecrate the hallowed halls


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