Sunday, 12 February 2012

He sits ten-headed

He sits ten-headed, 'pon a throne of gold
His sons would be god-killers, if gods could die
But though his hearth is warm, his heart grows cold
And he cannot stir it, however he may try

'Cross the sea a prince leaves home
A city bereft, a father betrayed
For fourteen years southerly to roam
To live and to die by the bow and the blade

In a forest of monkeys a king returns
Bloody from battle, he attacks his own
Entreaties for peace he scorns and he spurns
He cares only for glory and the throne

Near a sea of salt a bird does not fly
His eyes are the keenest, but his wings have been burnt
Though once he reached the sun upon high
Heavy was the cost of the lesson he learnt

A demoness killed, a bow broken down,
An old man stripped of centuries of power
Slippers that serve better than a crown
These are the things that herald the hour

All this he sees, 'pon a mighty throne of gold
Promised is he that his killer will come
From stock that is man, who cannot possibly be bold
War stirs again, and his heart begins to thrum

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