2017 04 06
Running away from gold throne of world power,
the young king sits on bare hill by the river
and watches flowers bloom from rotting corpses
of his grandfather, father, and twelve brothers
who were killed in civil war for the crown.
Taking the jeweled crown off his bowed head,
the young king stares at bright glittering gems,
and watches vision of their clashing war
when they hacked each other dead with sharp swords,
howling in rage and then screaming in pain.
Standing on the shore among dead oak trees,
the young king twirls, and hurls the jeweled crown
as hard as he can into the blue sky,
then laughs wildly, spreading both his arms wide,
when the crown of power falls in gushing river.
"Now that I am free from duty of power,
discarding false emblem of divine right
to rule all people who live in this land,
I can build river boats with crafty hands,
for this has always been my boyhood dream."
Stiffening at shouts from court ministers,
the young king crouches down among the flowers,
then runs like moon wolf avoiding loud dogs
to hide in death cave behind tangled vines
where he closes his eyes in silent gloom.
"Let them fight over who will rule the world
while I gather apples and honeycombs
to brew sweet apple cider with mushrooms,
for I cannot rule with wisdom and laws
like my grandfather did on the gold throne."
Stripping vestments of soft velvet and silk,
the young king leaps from the cave into light
and dances naked on the Spartan hilltop,
then sits to meditate on large smooth stone,
watching sun and moon flash a thousand years.
"I cannot order people how to act
for I am no master of strategy,
preferring instead to place bright coins
in hands of people so they can make things,
and convert matter into strange machines."
Hiding in dark cave of spiders and snakes,
the young king watches shadows on the wall,
then gives each soul new secret game he spells,
but they all vanish at the flash of dawn,
and their voices harmonize with sea wind.
Striding down the highway of zooming cars,
the young king returns a thousand years later,
long beard tangled tight with telephone lines,
to smash clay vessel on the White House lawn
where men still fight over the crown of power.