Death Of Kings

Death Of Kings
© Surazeus
2018 01 12

Now let us sit together on the ground
and talk about the life and death of kings,
I cry out to the blank indifferent sky,
but I wander alone in misty woods,
and clutch at the cold hands of ancient trees.

Among the rustling reeds on river shore
I hold myself still in the swirling mist,
and listen to the sad indifferent wind
whisper the names of my slaughtered clan
heaped lifeless on the glorious field of battle
where they all chopped each other up with swords
in war over who would wear the gold crown
and reign as king in our castle of stone.

I find myself the last person alive,
staring at the faces of every man,
grandfather, father, uncles, brothers, cousins,
and nephews, along with their loyal warriors,
once animated with the joy of life
when they gathered in the grand castle hall
to feast on roast beef and drink honey mead,
now pale and stiff as they lie in the reeds
caked with blood and mud by the flowing river.

Old and weary from ruling as our king,
my grandfather stood tall in swirling mist,
wearing the gold crown that glitters with light,
while my father and his brothers approached
from both sides, divided into four factions
all contending over who should inherit
the divine right to rule in name of Christ.

My father declared loud his first-born right
to wear the crown of Jesus on his head,
but my grandfather called him greedy fool
too hot-headed to rule with stoic grace,
and as my uncles shouted out their rights,
each brother backed by faction of his clan,
they drew swords and hacked each other to death.

Now alone I stand in the mocking mist
and hold the gold crown, studded with diamonds,
in my trembling hand, shocked with mute despair
at the violent aggression of their greed,
and wondering now who will rule our great clan,
so I turn and see them all watching me,
my mother and everyone left alive
who refused to fight for the crown of Christ.

I place the shining crown in her pale hand
and go to drink cold water from the well
to cool the heated throbbing of my head,
but someone places heaviness of duty
pressing down with great weight on my frail head,
so I turn and see them all kneeling down
as my grandmother raises both her hands.

The king is dead, she cries, long live the king.

I feel shock of horror strike through my heart
when I realize they all kneel down to me,
and the weight of duty crushing my head
is the crown of glorious authority,
and at that moment black rain clouds part wide
to beam bright rays of sunlight on our world,
and in the face of the immortal sun
I see Christ Jesus smiling down at me.

Jesus is smiling down at me, I cry,
and everyone cheers as I weep with joy,
and lead them dancing to the castle hall
where I sit on the high gold lion throne,
then pouring wine into the holy grail
I lift it high and proclaim, may we live
long and prosper in this new age of peace.

I feel strange power of sunlight beam through me,
as if the spirit of Jesus pours down
from sphere of stars to fill me with his love,
suffused with supernatural strength of power,
then we sit and feast while musicians play,
and I sing to drown out the fear of death
that clutches at my heart with stark despair
as I gaze at their faces shining bright
when we dance and sing long after midnight.