Saturday, September 6, 2014

Den of Kings

The den of kings is a den of knaves,
whose chess match game
is a denizon of slaves.

I saw the game played in
a corn hole maze,
ooh we're so delighted
in a distracted united.

Heard the marbles played
in a ceiling contrited.

Spell check is unnecessary
to see that Mary's verse
is just a woman cursing
not a red bag accessory
after the fact.

The rains have come
it won't be long,
the harvest doomed
the crops all wrong.

She will weep no longer.
Not for slumber or hunger.

Come to avenge, the warrior cries
unearthing the sow of scurrilous lies.
No more shall we shed tears
to the lies that are fed
on tyranny's fear.

Oh, man, you really sealed your doom
in glories by the light of the moon.

She watched over quietly
your banquet of glutted feast-
watched the meekly inherit.
She's your Babylon's beast.

The children will know her as Mama, Grandma,
Nana, and the Light from the East... Sunlight.

So desist and decease.
We are forging ahead
with a plan called PEACE.

Not from these lips
will this false praise commence.

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