Dictator

[Nyyark]

There is a crow that sits on a throne.

It no longer flies,

But sits,

Consuming the trash of the kingdom.

 

Its crowish cry beckons its loyal servants,

As lovingly as mold embraces a pear.

And they come running and crawling,

And are made to be on all fours,

As if to hide the fact,

That they are far more men than he.

 

Then the crow on the throne extends his wings,

And they are glossed a shiny black,

But no amount of polishing can clean,

The darkness of disuse.

 

Then he extends his claws, cruel talons,

That never once tore anything but human flesh.

 

They are cleaned and polished,

But will never be

As nice the calloused hands that clean them.

 

Then he will turn his cold watchful eyes

To his lovely bride,

Who smiles at him warmly,

For he alone has her eyes,

Having eaten them and left her blind

To all the world around her.

 

Just as all who come close,

To the crow that sits on a throne.

[Peredhil]

Welcome to the Pen is Mightier than the Sword. I hope to see more (twisty?) pieces from you in the future.

 

We welcome visitors.

 

Elrond Peredhil, 31

[Ozymandias]

is it metaphor? A fairy tale? Both? I admit I'm not sure, but I like it very much either way. It reads like a passage from an epic; sad, and full of many stories.